The Killing Edge
by draxal
Summary: A year after the events of Shifting the Balance, Kenshin and Sano find themselves wondering the exotic lands of India. After they fall afoul of the commander of an English regiment they find themselves on the run, from the army, as well as the bloodshed of an unexpected slaughter. Kenshin x Sano.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

1886

Colonial India

An elephant lumbered down the road, urged along by a boy hardly wider than the great beast's swaying trunk. It pulled in its ambling wake the trunk of a tree, stirring up a cloud of dust and scouring the hard dirt of the road. One made way for it, wary of such massive beasts, even if the sight of them had become commonplace during the last year or more of wondering India.

Bangalore and Goa, Poona and Bombay, they'd walked from the eastern coast to the western and seen jungles lusher than any Japan had to offer. Seen sights that Himura Kenshin had never thought to see, having until little over a year and a half ago, never thought to leave the shores of Japan. He'd never had the inclination. Not like Sano, who had crossed the sea already once, and claimed a great and intimate knowledge of certain parts of China. But India was new to him as well, and he'd gaped no less than Kenshin when they'd seen their first elephant, great leathery skinned beasts as docile as any trained dog, doing the labor of twenty men. He'd stared no less impressed when they'd stood at the foot of the temple in Padmanabha or the ancient shrine to Kali on the outskirts of Hyderabad that had been old before the city itself had been built. It had been a very long time, longer by far than he'd walked the paths of this land, since he had let himself simply revel in the joy of discovery.

Sometimes he even forgot the pain that seemed always to linger at the heart of him, distracted by the wonders of a new world, or by Sano's easy company. Then the sight of a young child, clutching the hand of its mother, would remind him of what he'd lost and the weight of grief would ease its way back in where it belonged. He hated himself for those moments, where he could live a life free of the guilt of his failure to save them. He wanted that guilt - - he deserved it, no matter what Sano said. And Sano said a great deal, having strong opinions on the subject.

They made their way the best they could. Doing odd jobs when they could in exchange for a meal, day work when it was available in the villages and towns they passed through. Sano gambled when he had a coin or two to spare, and his luck these past months had not been half bad. But games of chance were easier found in the cities. There was little enough to feed a man's family in the smaller villages to spare for games of chance. But the rains had been plentiful this year and the crops were good, so an odd job here and there was not impossible to find.

And when work could not be found - - well, neither Kenshin nor Sano were unfamiliar with walking a day or two with nothing but water on their bellies. They'd heard rumors the last village they'd passed, of a call for workers to dig an aqueduct on the reserve of the local landlord. Rupee in their pockets for a few honest days work would be a welcome thing.

So they headed that way, to a village that bordered the estate of the Englishman that owned the lands that the people of all the neighboring villages farmed for their livelihoods. A good-sized village, the fields that preceded it thick with sugar cane. A great many low, thatch-roofed houses, a great many people on the streets, going about their daily business. More perhaps than one might expect mid-day in a farming community.

They got a few looks here and there as they passed, the people here well used to Europeans but not so much lighter skinned Asians of Japanese decent. Not many though, people more interested in a gathering towards the center of the town.

"Army," Sano, who could see over the heads of most of the crowd, said, as they approached the edge of it. A half head shorter Kenshin took his word for it, skirting the edge of the gathering, taking into account more men in the sand colored uniforms of military men about the town now that he sought them out. A regiment's worth of men, at the very least, mostly Indians with their pointed turbans and their long rifles strapped to their backs with their packs. He saw a glimpse through a gap in the crowd of an English officer, speaking with an Indian elder near what must have been the town's temple.

"What's going on?" Sano asked in English, of a bare chested native. Sano's English was better than Kenshin's, though Kenshin spoke it tolerably well now.

"Sir Porter has refused to pay for the honest work many men have done on his aqueduct," the man spat, glancing at Sano. Then looking again, taking them in, their native linins and their foreign features. "When we complained - - he called in the army, accusing us of insurgency. "

Not an unfamiliar tale. The English who had been granted land rights here by their queen tended towards avarice, taking every advantage over a native people they considered below them. Kenshin had seen it no few times. Had heard the complaints of people taxed into starvation - - people forbidden to grow the harvest of their choice in favor of sowing their fields with crops dictated by their English overseers. And when they complained of it, cried foul and sought to the voices of others in agreement, they were charged with insurgency against the crown and jailed.

"The English Captain," the man waved a hand towards the officer. "He says that we may not gather to complain. He says that we may take up our grievance with the magistrate. How will we get justice, when Sir Porter serves that post?"

He spat again, and stalked off into the crowd.

"Well, damn," Sano said. "I guess there's no work to be had here after all."

He was as bare-chested at the native man, the day being an oppressively hot one. No one here cared if a man went half naked, the heat lasting year round in this part of the country. Kenshin had his own open down the front, cloak and blanket and what other few supplies he had to his name in a pack he wore over his shoulder. He had no blade. He hadn't since the first day he'd truly accepted that Kaoru and Kenji were dead. He'd tossed it into the sea - - useless thing that it had been - - unable to save them with it. Sano had called him a fool for it. Accused him of trying to punish himself for something he'd had no control over.

Sometimes he even half believed that. Only sometimes, though.

There was a well at town's center and water was free. They weeded their way through the disgruntled crowd, past ranks of wary infantry at the edges of it, and towards the central well. A great many women gathered around it, in their plain linen sari's and scarves, speaking in hushed tones among themselves, casting worried glances at the gathering of angry men.

Kenshin pulled up the bucket and took the empty canteen from his pack to fill with water. Sano had his own and they drank their fill. Sano filled the bucket once more and emptied it over his head, before smiling at a homely young Hindu woman and inquiring.

"Know of any work in town that could get a man a bowl of rice or two?"

The girl hunched her shoulders, embarrassed or shy or simply not used to being spoken to by strange men. But she looked to her friends and after conferring, one of them said. "You might try Daji at the edge of town. Her husband broke his leg last week and there might be work she needs done because of it."

"He was lazy to begin with," another woman said. "There will be work aplenty that needs doing, if all you need is a bowl of rice."

They laughed, amusing themselves in gossip of a neighbor.

Daji did indeed have chores in sore need to doing. Firewood in need of chopping and a hole in the roof in need of thatching. A good afternoon's work of work for the both of them and likely worth more than a simple meal, but beggars could hardly be choosers. They got rice and flatbread out of it, which they ate out in the yard, away from a complaining, bed-ridden husband and a screaming infant.

"So what do think, do we stay here for the night, or head out?" Sano asked, after they'd plucked the last grain of rice from their bowls and sat in the grass at the side of Daji's house.

"With the infantry in town, I'd just as well sleep outside of town," Kenshin admitted.

Sano nodded. "So, we fill our canteens and head out."

It was a sensible plan. Kenshin had no love for the English and Sano had no love for authority of any sort. Avoiding them both worked best for all concerned. Sano went ahead, while Kenshin returned the bowls and thanked the Goodwife. He was better by far that Sano when it came to the little courtesies, even though the patching of a roof was worth far more than the two bowls of rice that the goodwife had complained was depleting her larder to part with. She kept him a little longer, out in the yard, beyond the hearing of her bed bound husband, and asked what news had come down the road from the towns and villages they had passed.

He passed along what things he thought she might find of interest, and she raised her brow at his accent, and no doubt the shape of his eyes. She leaned in conspiratorially and said. "If you're Chinese, don't let the English know. There's little love lost since the Opium Wars."

"I'm not," he assured her.

And she shrugged, doubtful. Almost, one could be offended.

"Just good advice." She returned to her house, and Kenshin shouldered his pack and headed back towards the center of town and the well where Sano would be waiting - - probably impatient, by now.

He heard the frantic blowing of a whistle before he'd rounded the corner to the village center. Heard the sound of men's voices raised in alarm. Of cries and the sound of conflict.

He swore, increasing his pace. Surely if there was trouble, Sanosuke would have found his way to the center of it.

Sanosuke Sagara was not by any definition of the word, a 'do-gooder'. He didn't go out of his way to right wrongs or see that justice was carried out. He had rather a fondness for certain elements of the underworld, long as too many innocent folk weren't getting hurt. He and Kenshin had used to differ a lot on that count, Kenshin's sense of honor a much more defined thing than Sano's. But of late - - this last year and half since he'd failed to save Kaoru and his and Kaoru's kid - - well, Kenshin had retreated from the world. Kenshin turned a blind eye to a lot of things, either too wrapped up in his own shell of grief and guilt to notice, or simply too broken to care. It took a damned lot to rile him nowadays. A damn lot to shake him out of the quiet lassitude that he wore like a cloak.

Those first six- - eight months had been the worst. It had been like traveling with a man who'd lost his tongue for all he spoke. Lost most of his mind for all the interest he showed in the world around him. Sano who'd never been known for his patience, figured he ranked right up there with the saints for the tolerance he'd shown dealing with it.

Kenshin was better - - marginally. Sano could occasionally get a smile out of him. Could get him to show interest in some of the places they visited. Still, there was a certain spark missing, like Kaoru dying had ripped something out of him that was hard pressed to regrow.

Or losing Kenji. Kenshin could talk about Kaoru sometimes - - but he couldn't bring himself yet to speak of the child. He'd go pale and clam up, looking like something noxious and hard had formed in his gut when Sano brought up the boy. Three years old, that's what Kenji had been when he'd died, and Sano couldn't quite wrap his mind around having a kid and then loosing it. Maybe Kenshin couldn't either and that was the problem.

He sure as hell still held on to the guilt of not being able to save them. The guilt of sleeping with Sano while he'd still thought they were alive. He hadn't slept or done anything else with him since. Sano wasn't even sure if he masturbated - - like maybe he thought that denying himself honest, physical needs was just rewards. Sometimes the way Kenshin's mind worked was beyond Sano's ken. God's knew Sano didn't deny himself physical release, even if it was by his own hand. And after the first few months or so, he even stopped going off alone and dealing with it privately so as not to offend Kenshin in his grief. If Kenshin had an issue with Sano lying across from him in his own bedding, dealing with his morning erection - - then Kenshin could damn well get up from where ever they'd bedded down for the night and remove himself to a safe distance.

But Kenshin didn't complain. Kenshin existed. Kenshin did what needed doing. He walked through this land without really immersing himself in it, a casual wonderer without a destination. And Sano wondered with him, because a half alive Kenshin was better than no Kenshin at all and Sano, despite all his lack of patience, was more than willing to wait for him to heal.

The sun was low now, the shadows lengthening in the streets of this town, the name of which Sano hadn't bothered to ask. As he neared the well, movement caught his eyes, the shifting of bodies, the thud of fists hitting flesh - - no not fists, wooden batons, as a group of uniformed infantry gathered about the half hidden figure of a man, pummeling him with their clubs.

Wading into conflict with the military was no smart move, the British being damned touchy about challenges to their power, but three guys against one that didn't even seem to be fighting back just sat wrong with Sano. There was a point where, if a man wanted to call himself a man, he couldn't just stand back and watch.

"Hey," he barked, striding that way, catching the arm of one of the soldiers as he drew it back to strike the cowering man.

The others turned on him, Indians no doubt enjoying the power their British masters bestowed upon them. A baton was swung at his head and Sano caught it, the wood slapping against the palm of his hand. He wrenched it out of the man's grip and flung it away.

"Damnit, you want a fight, I'll give you a fight - -" he snarled, even as the third raised a whistle from a cord about his neck and blew into it, a shrill alarm.

He blocked a fist and smashed one of his own into the face of the man who'd swung on him. The man crashed back into the wall of the neighboring building even as the side door opened, spilling forth a whole new pack of dark skinned sepoys, come to see what the ruckus was about. No few of them with the bolt action rifles the infantry carried strapped to their backs, but in the close quarters of an alley there was no room to aim and fire, so at least he had that going for him. He ducked and knocked a guy down with a fist in his throat, took a baton in the side and ignored the pain in the kidney to smash his fist into someone else's mouth. The villager the original ones had been beating had sunk down to his hands and knees and was trying to crawl away from the melee. There were more men heading this way, more blowing of the damned whistle and cries for order in a distinctly _British,_ British voice. With the arrival of higher authority, what might have been just a brawl turned into what was likely going to be a more complicated situation.

Fine. Just damned fine. Kenshin was going to kill him, if one of these guys didn't manage it first - - which would be a damned embarrassing way to go, taken out by an accidental hit by a half trained sepoy infantryman.

He let them take hold of him, latching onto his arms, bearing down on him with enough numbers that once they got hold he wasn't going to easily shake them. But they had stopped trying to bash his skull in with their batons, some semblance of order restored among them now that officers had arrived.

"What's the meaning of this disturbance?" The officer with the most gleaming metal upon his chest demanded. Sano had no idea what denoted rank among the British military, but this man obviously held a good deal of it, if the infantry sword with the gleaming guard at his hip, the holstered pistol on the other side and the boots that looked as if he'd just come from getting them shined were any indication. Whipcord lean, with a large drooping mustache, the man's small blue eyes bore into the lot of them.

"This man attacked us," One of the sepoy cried. There was blood seeping down his nose as evidence.

"You guys were beating an unarmed man. Three against one. I evened the odds," Sano snapped back, and got a baton slammed into the small of his back for that defense. He grunted, clenching his teeth.

The officer stared down his long nose at him with cold impartiality. "Attacking a soldier in her Majesty's service is a punishable offense. You're not Indian."

The officer strode forward and his men made hasty way for him. He was as tall as Sano, but he didn't have the breadth of shoulder.

"What makes you think?" Sano ground out.

"Where are your papers? Your passport?"

Gods. They'd run into this issue once, a few months back in Bombay, after the authorities had routed a gaming den that Sano had discovered. They'd managed to escape having to explain the lack of the passports that they probably should have gotten when they'd arrived in the country at the port of Madras.

Past the officer's shoulder he saw Kenshin in the street between the well and the group of gathered infantry around him. Sano shook his head once, sharply, warning him to keep out of it. The last thing they needed was the both of them in hot water with the powers that be.

"Passport? Didn't know I needed one, Lieutenant," Sano said making a guess.

The officer's mouth tightened under his mustache. "Captain. Captain Robert Worthington. We don't tolerate disruption of the peace here. We don't tolerate attacks upon those that serve to keep that peace. You are under arrest for assault at the very least, traveling without proper papers, and possibly the instigation of insurgency - -"

"The hell - -" Sano cried, as they hauled him past the officer. He caught Kenshin's eyes in passing. Narrow, annoyed eyes, before Kenshin lowered his head and let his hair and the shadows of evening hide his features.

The constable's office was a small affair, for a middling sized village that probably did not see a great deal of offenses to jail its citizenry. An office in the front with a surprised looking local constable behind a desk, and a single large cell in the back, with a rough wooden bench along one wall, and a pee pot in the corner.

They hustled him in, the men holding his arms doing their best to try and twist them out of socket. He ground his teeth and made them work at keeping their hold, until they slammed him face first against the bars of the cell and some inventive soul slapped a pair of iron manacles around his wrists and save them the trouble of trying to restrain him. They jerked him around them, hands on his shoulders, dark eyes glaring at him threateningly, while the Captain marched up.

"What's your name?"

"Kaito," Sano said meeting the man's eyes unflinchingly.

The Englishman didn't seem to like that, the lack of humility in the face of his superiority. He held out a hand and one of his men handed him a baton. Sano turned his head just quick enough to avoid the thing smashing across his nose. He took the blow against the cheek instead and it felt like skin split. He shook his head, little lights dancing around the edges of his vision.

"Have you any connection with the attacks on British personal and the robberies along the Guroda peninsula?"

"The what? No. I'm traveling from the west coast - - just looking for work."

"There's little enough work here for the locals. Where are your papers?"

"Yeah, well. I know that now and I don't have any."

"Are you connected with the insurgents in Guroda province, attempting to stir rebellion amongst the people?"

"I told you - - no! I'm just passing through. I did what any man with a shred of honor would have when he comes upon three thugs beating the shit out of an unarmed man. I didn't know they were _your_ thugs, or I'd have passed by."

He got hit again for that, the baton jamming into his gut, then his jaw. He gasped, spitting out blood. The bastard had a talent with the club.

Captain Worthington leaned forward, small eyes narrowed, a vein throbbing rhythmically in his temple. "It been tasked to me to track down and eradicate the miscreants responsible for stirring violence against the crown. I take my task very seriously and I assure you there will be no leniency for those that stir rebellion. No leniency."

He handed the baton back to his subordinate, gave the man a nod, then spun on his heel and stalked for the door.

The remaining Indians turned back to Sano with dark, speculative eyes, and he figured it was going to be long night, if they'd been given leave to continue with his questioning.

Kenshin followed Sano to the constable's office, keeping to the shadows of the opposite street. Easy enough to go unnoticed, with some people still out after dusk, himself dressed the part in long native trousers and lose linen shirt. In the purple light of evening, his hair might have been the only give away, if someone across a street happened to be looking for abnormalities. Long again, the tips of it trailing the small of his back, auburn streaked with highlights of reddish gold from months of walking under the hot Indian sun. A vanity perhaps, not to cut it, but Sano claimed a fondness for it and the tail of hair at his back held a deeper meaning - - more than vanity - - a badge of what he was again - - a man without a master or a home. A rurouni without a sword.

He stood in the lee between two buildings across the street from the jail, taking in the lay of the building, squat and sturdy with a wood roof instead of thatch, and barred windows on the ground level. There was another window, higher up, for aeration that lacked armament. Easy enough to get to from the rooftops of the neighboring buildings, if one had a dire need.

A group of the native sepoy guard loitered outside the constabulary, turban wrapped helmets close together as they conferred. Eventually the British officer stalked out and they fell into place behind him, save for two that stood on guard outside the door. They headed down the street towards what might have been the village inn and those few people that had paused in their evening activities to watch the passage, returned to their work.

A man hesitantly edged towards him. Bare headed, bare chested, with the short, bunched pants that a good deal of native men wore, baring knobbing legs and dirty bare feet. There was blood on his chin, and a swollen, split lip. Kenshin looked at him quietly, suspecting the man had a purpose and waiting to see if he carried it out.

Finally, the man said. "You were with him? The man they took away?"

The man was scared and nervous, but there seemed little of ill intent about him. Kenshin nodded.

"He - - he saved me from a worse beating than I received - - and I fled. It should have been me they jailed. I'm sorry."

"What did you do?" Kenshin asked softly. "To deserve this beating?"

The man looked nervously about, then beckoned Kenshin to follow him down the alley to the relative quiet of the next street. There were only small houses here, with small yards that housed the occasional goat or chicken drowsing in the falling darkness.

"I did not do what they accused me of," the man said vehemently. "I swear that. I only complained that they were the dogs of the English to support Sir Porter's thievery against us and they accused me of sedition. I've wife and four girls and I thought of them and I ran. It was cowardice."

Kenshin shook his head. "No. The odds were against you and they have need of you more than he did. I don't fault you for running when you did. They are easy to accuse of sedition though, when a man simply speaks his mind or defends himself. Is there truth to their fears?"

The man moved towards a hovel, a hut with a rickety fence protecting a thin garden. The curtain moved and Kenshin caught a glimpse of a woman's face peering out, before she retreated.

"There are rumors of a supply train attacked north of here, of British soldiers killed and goods stolen. And another of a platoon ambushed on the road to Dagaralore and killed to a man. They fear another rebellion and they seek to slice it off at the roots before it comes to be. The men here, they are only part of a larger regiment that camps on the grounds of Sir Porter's estate. They say an English General of some repute leads them."

"What will they do, to a man accused of sedition?" Kenshin asked.

The villager shivered, casting a glance back at his hut, and said in hushed tones. "I spoke to a traveler who saw four men shot on the road, killed by soldiers under the command of the British and left to rot. The British believed them scouts for bandits on the road, but the man I spoke with claimed that they simply refused to give way - - and were belligerent about it - - when the troop commanded they clear the road for their passage. I've heard of men hanged for speaking in public of British injustices. They cling to their laws and their magistrates when it benefits them, but punishment is swift when it is the common man they find offense with. My prayers are with your friend."

Kenshin took his leave, leaving the man to return to his hovel and his family. If nothing else, Sano had saved a woman and her daughters of the loss of a husband. But he had wondered into troubles that went deeper than casual street brawls.

Kenshin was no stranger to fast, brutal elimination of potential threats. It had been the way of the world in Japan before the Meiji era with its manta of tolerance and peace. Offense had not been a thing lightly taken by men of the sword. There were samurai he had heard tell of, that would take a man's head for failing to bow the proper degree in passing, much less what they might do to a man that spoke out against their lord. Brutal men granted the power of life and death by the shoguns they had served. They were what they were, and he had taken no few of their lives during the war that had changed Japan for the better.

But these British, in their quest for colonies and their thirst for riches and power, rode rough shod over people they claimed would fall into decline without the benefit of their wise rule. They crowed to all the world of their superiority and the enlightenment of their civilization and yet they killed men on the road for daring offense as easily as the most brutal of samurai's in days gone by might kill a peasant for daring to disrespect him.

He did not wish to trust Sano's life to their mercy. It would make their lives difficult, breaking and running from this trouble, but better than sitting idly while the blade came down upon their necks. It was a big land - - a massive land compared to Japan - - and there were places aplenty that a pair of travelers might hide, living off the land itself, until furor over the loss of one man caught brawling in the street died down.

He waited until well into night, when the village was quiet and still and the darkness peaked. The sepoy guards had left some while back, along with their fellows that had lingered in the constable's office. He thought there was one village official still within the office, left to watch the prisoner, but knowing village officials of any nationality, he was likely bedded down for the night himself.

It was a simple matter of scaling the trellis at the back of the neighboring building, and making the short jump from one rooftop to the next. The shutters on the small window at the apex of the roof were open, allowing night breezes to cool the interior. He slid through, crouched on a rafter and took account of the room.

Sure enough the village constable was asleep, sprawled on a narrow cot in the front of the room. The cell in the back was dark and quiet. He lowered himself to the floor, landing without a sound. There was a ring of keys on the desk, a small stroke of luck.

"Sano?" He whispered it, standing at the cell door, sorting through the keys for the one that might fit the lock.

There was movement against the wall at the back corner of the cell, a grunt as a body pushed itself up with effort. Even in the darkness, the bruises on Sano's face were evident. Kenshin's fingers froze on the keys, staring in dismay that began edging into anger as Sano reached a hand to lean on the bars, giving him a lopsided, swollen attempt at a grin. An eye swollen shut, a gash with the beginnings of nasty bruise on his cheek, more bruising on his face and who knew what on his body from the careful way he held himself. More damage by far than he'd had when they'd hustled him into this building. Which meant they'd been at him after, in this cell, where his options had been limited.

"S'okay," Sano whispered, flicking his one good eye down at the keys in Kenshin's hands. "Maybe open the cell before he wakes up, huh?"

Kenshin clenched his jaw, biting back the questions that wanted out. He found a likely key and fit it into the lock. The door swung open, creaking on its hinges, but the sleeping official didn't stir. Sano made a motion for Kenshin to wait, and went for his pack, with its belongings scattered on a table against the wall. He stuffed his things back in and limped to the door where Kenshin had already lifted the bar that barricaded it against trespass during the night.

"Before you say it," Sano said, as they edged down the side of the street, keeping well to the shadows. "This wasn't my fault."

"I know. It doesn't mean you aren't a fool." Kenshin paused, a good distance down the street from the jail, and took closer account of Sano's injuries. In the moonlight, the bruises were dark patches on his skin. Kenshin laid fingertips to an irregular patch of discoloration above his rips and Sano sucked in a breath.

"How bad?"

"Had worse, given to me by better. If they hadn't of cuffed my hands, I'd have knocked all their heads together."

Kenshin narrowed his eyes, angrier than he'd been in a very long time.

"It's not like - -" Sano started to say, then broke off, gaze shifting behind Kenshin in surprise. And Kenshin, who had been very focused upon Sano, cursed himself for a fool for not realizing the approach of another man in the darkness.

He realized it now, without even turning. The prickling of the hair along his arms, the feel of cold steel at the back of his neck.

"I was told there were two of you." The stilted British accent that belonged to an Englishman and not an Indian. The smell of boot polish and some pungent cologne.

"Turn around, slowly."

Kenshin did as he was directed, the tip of the blade never wavering from his skin. Cold metal of a straight infantry sword of the sort the British preferred, with a short grip and an ornate guard. Kenshin's eyes drifted up the blade to the man holding it. Sano's height, skin weathered by years under the Indian sun. Without his helmet there was a lighter band around his forehead where the tan ended.

"Are you Chinese spies sent here to stir trouble?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Sano said. "Do we look Chinese? Are you Europeans that blind that you can't tell the difference?"

Kenshin wished very much that Sano would keep his mouth shut.

"You're an insolent bastard. Escape from custody, assault, espionage - - your list of offenses is growing."

"All of them punishable by a beating then a shooting, right?" Sano said. "Because you English are so stuck up on following the letter of your law."

"Shut up, Sano," Kenshin suggested softly.

The officer's eyes flicked to him and he moved. Just slid around the side of the sword, putting his back to the blade, catching the man's wrist above the guard and forcing the tip of the blade down into the dirt. Continued the turn and slammed the heel of his hand against the side of the Englishman's temple. The man went down, a sprawl of long limbs, the gun, which would have been a better weapon to point at Kenshin, still snug in its holster.

"Sure. That's another way to go," Sano said, bending to grasp the man's ankles and help drag him deeper into the shadows of the alley away from easy discovery. "Granted, if he was pissed before - -"

"Shut up," Kenshin repeated his earlier suggestion and Sano snorted.

It had been a rash move, but Kenshin had found, since Winter had destroyed the life he'd had, that smug Englishmen stretched his tolerances to their limits. And this one had been responsible for Sano being in the shape he was in. Either from his direct order or his lack of control over the men under his command. Either way, he was responsible and the least he deserved was a sore head and bit of embarrassment. They'd pay for it though, in no few sleepless nights with likely pursuit on their heels until they cleared this province.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

They moved as fast as Sano was able, avoiding the road, heading north east of the village. The darkness was cover from easy pursuit and Kenshin could only hope that it might be an hour or more before the English Captain either regained consciousness or was discovered and pursuit began. Sano, which Sano was proud to boast, was very good at ignoring pain and physical injury when expediency demanded it of him. Oh, he'd moan and beg pity if there was no dire need and a soft bed and someone to wait on him hand and foot while he recovered, but in a pinch, he was better than Kenshin at pushing the pain aside and powering through.

They found a spot near dawn, well away from any road, a little rocky alcove near a stream within the shelter of woods. After poking around to make sure nothing else had claimed the spot, Sano tossed his blanket down and fell upon it, the taut way he clenched his jaw the only indication of just how sore he was. Kenshin pulled his own blanket from his pack and gave it to Sano.

"Sleep while you can. I'll take first watch."

Sano didn't complain over that. He bunched Kenshin's blanket into a ball, stuffed it under his head and didn't open his eyes thereafter.

Kenshin sat with his back to a tree outside the little shelter and listened to the sounds of the forest as it stirred with dawn's approach. Listened for any disturbance of it, that might indicate the movement of men near the wood. They'd put hours between themselves and the village, but still determined pursuit might close that distance.

He clenched his right fist, watching the pale scar tissue of a wound long healed flex. His sword hand, that hadn't gripped the hilt of a sword since he'd thrown the sakabatou into the sea. The night he'd truly understood that Kaoru and Kenji were dead. The night he'd gone dead inside. And remained that way since, walking, eating, breathing, skimming the surface of the world without ever truly caring what transpired around him in it.

Tonight, seeing Sano's battered face - - the anger that had welled had been the first real emotion that had pierced that shell since Madras. Since before Madras - - since he'd heard the news that her ship had gone down a day out from the city. That's when things had stopped mattering. That's when he'd let part of himself drown.

He looked at Sano, legs curled up to accommodate his long form in the little nook, bruising beginning to darken to its full glory, blood and grime streaking his skin. Still swollen and red around the cuts. He'd donned his shirt, so it was hard to see the damage on his torso.

He'd gone into that fight for the sake of a man he didn't know, without hesitation. And Kenshin had to wonder, if it had been him who had passed by a casual beating in the privacy of a dark alley, if he would have cared enough to intercede. He thought not. He would have before - - but now, during the months they had wondered India - - he wasn't so sure. How many times during the past year had he passed blithely by, encased in his shell of numb as injustices happened? Nothing, not even Sano, strong enough to rouse enough interest in him to simply care.

He took a breath, looking away from Sano, feeling a shudder of unease. He wasn't even sure how long they'd been here. Many months surely, but the seasonal changes where they'd traveled were minimal, hot year round. He had nothing to go by, and there had been times early on when weeks or more may have passed with him barely aware.

He rose, unease turning to an urgent need to simply move. He made his way down to the little stream, clear water cheerily burbling around rocks and sticks in the stream bed. He stared down at his rippled reflection. Thinner than he had been the last time he'd bothered to glance at a reflection of himself. The tail of hair over his shoulder was as long as it had ever been. Dark and lank though, with weeks gone by without more than water spilled over his head.

He took another deep breath, calming a pulse that wanted to race. Crouched down and shed his shirt, wetting it in the stream and using it to wipe away dirt and grime from his skin. Sano, he thought had a sliver of soap in his pack. He tread back up the bank and quietly rifled through Sano's bag until he found it, then went back down to the creek and did a more thorough job of it.

Which put him an hour or so into morning and nothing to do but sit there, while his clothing and his hair dried, listening to the soft sounds of Sano's breath as he slept. He sat so long, so quietly, that a hare across the stream crept out, unawares, rustling in the young greenery. The notion of meat for dinner crossed his mind. He could toss the little knife he'd been given by the Indian woman who had sheltered them when they'd first come here, and take it out from here. Perhaps even with a small round river rock if his aim was up to par. Only there were none within his reach and moving to get one would only frighten the animal away. A fire would be a risk in the light of day regardless. The smoke drifting up out of the wood a sure sign for anyone on their trail.

So he sat and watched it come and go. Watched a lizard scurry down to the stream and sun itself on a flat rock. The birds chattered in the branches, a great variety of them. A pair of small spotted deer ventured out, further down, dipping their delicate noses in the water, ears twitching.

It would have been easy to drowse, but he feared discovery and Sano had taken enough abuse for the present. Sano's mistreatment spurred him to more concern for his own safety than he'd felt for some while and made him wonder what had gone unnoticed by him these past months. He felt some guilt for it, now that he dwelled on it, his own lack of appreciation for Sano and Sano's companionship. Surely _he_ had been no great company these long months.

He let Sano sleep far longer than the time they would normally have split their watches when they slept in uncertain places. Finally when the afternoon had melted away and dusk again approached, he shook Sano awake. Sano started, jerking up defensively, eyes darting, fists balled, until he realized it was only Kenshin. Then he groaned, easing himself onto an elbow. The swelling of the one eye had gone down while he slept, and almost he could open it fully. He gave Kenshin a look that seemed baleful, considering the state of his face, but probably wasn't, and complained.

"You didn't wake me for my turn at watch."

"No," Kenshin agreed. "I'll take a few hours now, until it's dark enough to move again."

Sano grunted and pushed himself up, crawling out of the alcove and holding out a hand to Kenshin to help gain his feet. One could imagine a body gone very, very stiff and sore.

A few curses ensued as he staggered off to the side and peed in the leaves. Then he went down the bank to the stream and sat ungracefully on the rocks at the bank, feet in the water as he bent over, dragging handfuls of water up to his face.

"Wait," Kenshin cautioned, and followed him down with a rag he'd rinsed earlier. "Let me see, Sano."

Sano grimaced and turned his face for Kenshin to take closer account of. He dipped the rag and wiped blood and dirt away from the cuts. Sano sighed, closing his eyes, leaning back while Kenshin cleaned the wounds. He pushed the collar of Sano's shirt aside, baring a nasty bruise on his shoulder. More on his torso. They had not been kind.

His fingers lingered on the taut muscle over Sano's ribs. Sano could take a hit well. Sano prided himself on it. From the shape of these bruises, they'd used batons.

"I'll be fine in a couple of days," Sano said and Kenshin tore his gaze away from the discoloration of Sano's flesh to his eyes. Realized his fingers had lingered, brushing skin that he hadn't touched for a very long time and drew them away.

Sano canted his head a little, that look in his eyes that speculated things better left unspeculated. No less aware than Kenshin how long it had been since they had been anything but casual companions.

Kenshin wrung the rag out, lying in on a rock next to Sano, and rose. "Just give me a few hours, then wake me. I will not feel comfortable until we have at least another full night's travel between us and them."

Sano shrugged, comfortably sprawled on his flat rock with his feet in cool water.

"A few hours," he agreed.

hr

Captain Robert Worthington II had been born in India. The son of a career military man of some repute he had been commissioned into the Queen's Royal Regiment as a Lieutenant after graduating from the Royal Military Collage in Sandhurst. Like his father before him, he had served with distinction throughout India and Burma. His father, the right honorable Lt. Col Robert Worthington Senior, had died during the Indian Rebellion of 1857 when the sepoys under his command had mutinied in Gwalior. That had been the death knoll for Company rule in India and control of the colonies had been turned over to the Crown and all the resources of Victoria's military.

To this day, Worthington believed his father had practiced too much leniency with his native troops. He believed that his father, who had, according to his mother, held a great fondness for the people of India, might have avoided the mutiny that had taken his life, if he'd looked upon the dark skinned natives of this land as the savages they were. Worthington had little tolerance for the varied heathen faiths, the superstitions, the sullen resentment of the native populace towards the civilized rule of Anglo Saxons.

When the stirrings of insurrections began in the form of attacks on British convoys, south of Amjhera, he had jumped at the chance to volunteer for the duty of chasing down rumors of insurrection and squashing them. The 49th Royal Light Infantry had developed no small reputation as a squad to be reckoned with.

He'd been following the trail of rumors and the reports of local constabularies for the last several months, of murders on the road, and whispers of renewed stirrings of the notorious Thugee cult spreading unrest among the peasantry. He was not sure he believed that particular rumor, the British army having gone a long way to wiping out the vicious Thugee's some while back, but one never knew what might be stirring in the back country and the hills where clans and tribes dwelled that seldom if ever had contact with the English speaking natives of more civilized India.

He had been on his way to meet with the regional military commander at the home of the provincial magistrate Sir Porter, when the situation with the foreigners had occurred. Chinese, if he were any judge, but then his service had been restricted to India and Burma and he had little familiarity with the Chinese provinces to the east. General Fletcher, the regional commander did, having served during the last Opium War with China, and having spent a great deal of time in the eastern orient before his tour here in India. There were even rumors that General Fletcher had taken an Asian wife that he'd introduced to European society in both their youths. Worthington frowned upon the mixing of races, but a man of Fletcher's standing, with his long and distinguished career in the service of her Majesty, might be due his occasional eccentricity.

If he had believed in the remote possibility that Chinese spies might be involved in some uprising of the Thugee cult, he might have steeled himself to report the embarrassing incident to Fletcher in his meeting. But fanatical Indian seditionists, much less zealous Thugee's had issues with foreigners of any sort, Anglo or East Asian, and would be unlikely to be in cahoots. Worthington's pride, which had taken no small blow, rather insisted he keep the incident that had found him waking at the crack of dawn in a dirty alley, to himself. He still found himself amazed that they'd gotten the drop on him. Thinking about it, and he found himself dwelling on it all too often, trying to wrap his mind around how he'd had the tip of blade at the throat of the shorter one, one moment, and the next, he'd been blinking himself awake, head pounding.

He'd had a word or two with the local constable, who'd been frankly amazed that the cell they'd had their prisoner in was empty. He'd sent a patrol out, but it had been hours after the fact. Still, the two were Asian in a land full of Indians, and might not be hard to find, if descriptions were passed thoroughly enough. He'd find them and see justice done.

The estate of Sir Porter was a sprawling, stone affair that would have looked perfectly at ease in the pastoral English countryside. The grounds were immaculate, the gardens lush and well tended. When Worthington and his young British aide, Corporal Culpepper rode up, they were escorted to the gardens at the back, where Sir Porter and his wife were taking lunch with General Fletcher. Mrs. Porter directed her native servant to fetch tea settings for both Worthington and his aide, but young Culpepper politely refused, and went to stand by the garden doors, while Worthington sat with the gentry.

Manners dictated he take his tea and wait until the lady had retired, before settling down to speak of matters suited for male ears. He gave his report to Fletcher, and spoke of the unrest he had routed in the village outside Porter's estate.

"It was a shoddily done job," Porter said, upon hearing of the villager's complaints. "If I rewarded them for it, they'd only be encouraged to more shoddy work. They should be grateful I don't raise taxes to make up for it."

"As you say, Sir Porter." Worthington's respect for the man rose. A firm hand was what these people needed. Coddling would only make them lazy and unproductive.

"Do the waters flow to your fields from this aqueduct?" Fletcher sipped at his tea, holding the china cup with a certain delicacy in large, blunt fingers.

Porter raised a bristle brow. "Yes. But that's hardly the point. A weeklong job took ten days, and my overseer had no end of problems with worker complaints. Good English workers would have had it done properly in a handful of days."

"Good English workers would have demanded ten times the pay and howled bloody murder if they didn't have their lunch breaks and their pay in a timely manner."

Porter snorted, laughing, very likely not perceiving the underlying hint of scorn in Fletcher's voice. "God help us, if the scent of unionization ever crops up here, eh, old man?"

Fletcher didn't seem to find the notion amusing. In fact Fletcher didn't seem to find much at all amusing, his craggy face like stone. He turned his attention from Porter to Worthington, and began a more in depth discussion of regional troop deployment.

Worthington left the estate with orders little changed from when he'd come. Fletcher might have had issue with Porter's disregard of his native workforce, but he had little sympathy for those that threatened the interests of the crown. Whatever means necessary, to curb a possible repeat of the riots that had taken so many British lives during the last rebellion, had been his order and Worthington had silently reveled in it. If he could prevent what his father could not, it would be fitting tribute.

hr

Two days of traveling at night, sleeping during the day and living off the land. Berries and tuberous roots made up their diet, since Kenshin was damned and determined to avoid even the chance of discovery until he was comfortable that they'd shaken any pursuit. Which meant even though the streams were plentiful and they might have caught fish, no fire to cook them over. And though Sano liked sashimi as well as the next man, he wasn't so sure he wanted it of the minnow variety.

But on the third day, when the worst of Sano's aches had began to fade and his bruises to yellow, Kenshin finally let up, and conceded that maybe, they might risk traveling again during daytime, long as they kept from the main roads. Perhaps even, if Sano wanted, they might stop and do a bit of fishing, set up camp and make a small fire to cook it by.

Sano figured Kenshin was as tired of eating raw roots as he was. And traveling in the Indian forest at night was damned treacherous, there being a lot more things in the lush, tropical forests here that might put a man in peril than there were at home in the forests of Japan.

They'd been skirting the edge of a decent sized stream for the last night of travel. Slow moving and placid, with a rise of forest-covered hills on the far side, and grassy, flat land on the shore they walked. There were enough trees for ample cover, should cover be needed, but they'd stayed far from roads and it was doubtful any army patrol would happen upon them here.

Sano had a net that he'd picked up from an old man in a village outside Surai. A small net, that was only good for the shallows near a stream or a river shore, but he'd gotten half good at fishing with it and he'd never been particularly good at fishing before. He'd never had the patience for it.

He made a haul of small silvery fish with red tipped scales. Hand length mostly, but fat enough that they promised a decent bit of meat. He'd done the fishing, so it was only fair Kenshin to the gutting and the scaling. So Sano sat back against a smooth rock under a tree not too far from the stream shore and relaxed in the warm late afternoon heat. He watched Kenshin make short work of the six fish he'd netted, then prepare them for cooking.

Kenshin was a better cook by far than Sano, better than Kaoru used to be by a long shot. Sano would have skewered the fish on sticks and charred them over the flames. Kenshin took out their dwindling supply of spices and sparingly dressed the fish before wrapping them in leaves and lying them carefully near the edges of the small fire he'd built, to steam. It had been a while since he'd taken the initiative, food seeming to have little interest for him this last year or more. He ate because he had to survive and took none of the pleasure Sano did out of the process. Which meant Sano hadn't had a lot of particularly palatable meals on the road. It made the need to find the odd job or two and gain a little coin in his pocket to buy decent meals all the more vital.

He shut his eyes, happily drowsing as the smell of steaming fish began to permeate the air. For a long while Kenshin sat silently across from him, only occasionally poking the fire with a stick to shift coals.

Then, quietly, "I have not been good company of late."

Sano cracked an eye, studying Kenshin as Kenshin studied the dancing flames. "Yeah, you've sucked."

Kenshin looked up at him from under the fall of bangs, a dappled patch of sunlight catching the odd color of his eyes. Pretty color, when the light hit them right, like the darkest part of violet petals. "Why have you stayed?"

Sano almost laughed, but there was a level seriousness in Kenshin's gaze that stopped him from a flippant answer. This was Kenshin _asking_ and Kenshin hadn't seemed to particularly care up until now. Something had shifted and Sano thought maybe it had been triggered by his getting his ass kicked. Worth the pain maybe if it pierced the shell Kenshin had erected around himself.

"I figured sooner or later, you'd get better. It's not like I need your good mood to enjoy myself, anyway."

Kenshin kept staring, hands very still on his knees, like he was trying to get inside Sano's head. Kenshin understood people better than he let on. He read them like books and then he pretended obliviousness. But Sano thought, he'd always been able - - not that he actively tried - - to confound Kenshin, now and then.

He could have said something like 'I don't abandon the people I love,' but that would have sounded womanish and Sano balked at that embarrassment. Besides, he'd already said it and once ought to be enough, damnit.

Kenshin seemed to maybe understand though, because he hunched his shoulders a little, before letting out a breath and casting Sano the ghost of a wry smile. "No, you enjoy yourself very well, without any help from me. Too much, in fact. I would have liked to explore the temple at Durobi more thoroughly."

"Ha," Sano laughed, remembering the hurried trek out of that particular town well, even if he had been staggeringly drunk. "At least I didn't knock the head of the local regiment on his ass. After a couple of miles, villagers get tired and go back home."

Kenshin sighed. "It seemed the thing to do at the time."

"So - - that fish ready yet?"

It was and after days of nothing but berries and tubers, it was as tasty a meal as Sano could recall having. There was nothing left but very neat skeletons when they were done. Still they buried the leaves and the bones to avoid attracting curious predators at night, and sat well after dusk, allowing themselves the luxury of simply relaxing.

Sano hesitated to start a conversation that Kenshin would retreat from, but it had been a damned long time since he'd brought up the subject of home and people they'd left behind.

"So - - you think the kid's doing okay? With the dojo and all?"

Almost, Sano thought Kenshin was going to shut down, refusing to even acknowledge talk of home and the things that mattered there, so twisted up inside with pain over what he'd lost that he couldn't deal with the memories of it. Part of Sano thought it was cowardice on Kenshin's part, the refusal to deal with the past, because of the pain it caused. Hell, the whole trek through India was him running from memories the best he knew how and here Sano was on his heels. But then, with all the other things that Kenshin delved head on into, putting his life on the line with out a shed of hesitation - - well, maybe he was due that one weakness. Maybe Sano wasn't one to judge, having weaknesses of his own. Didn't every man?

But Kenshin surprised him finally, running a hand through his hair, raking it off his forehead for a moment before it fell back down. "I think Yahiko will thrive. He was courting Tsubame - -perhaps by now, he's even asked her to marry him."

"No shit? I can't even imagine the kid married."

"He's not a kid - - he's eighteen - - or is it nineteen? - - now. He'll be a good master for the dojo. He'll uphold the honor of her name and her father's name. Better than I would have - -"

Kenshin broke off, stared out at the glint of moonlight rippling the water of the stream, swallowing.

"Why? Because you would have run?"

Kenshin cast him a glance, but Sano couldn't see if it were guilt or accusation in his eyes. Finally though. "Yes. Without her there - -them, there - - the walls hold nothing for me. Even if I had been there - -in Tokyo - - I would not have stayed."

"Yeah." Sano lay back in the grass and stared at the sky, clear and sparkling with stars. "Sometimes running's what you have to do to survive."

Kenshin took a breath, lay back finally on the grass an arms length from Sano. Safe distance, but still there was a sense of camaraderie - - of them being closer than they had in a long time that made Sano's pulse race a little. He didn't do anything but lie there though, and silently share the sky.

Sometimes silence spoke more than all the words in the world anyway.

hr

Two weeks meandering their way northeast, careful to avoid notice on the few roads they walked. Mostly they kept to the edges of the forest, where hunting small game was easy and shelter was plentiful. Not too deep into the forests, which had gradually become greener and denser than the dryer woodlands of the south, because things lurked there that a man who didn't know the nature of all the predators that dwelled in these lands, held great respect for.

Kenshin had spotted a tiger yesterday, padding down to drink at the same stream he and Sano had stopped at, some ways down on the other side of the water. He'd seen one before, at a greater distance and been duly impressed. Thirty yards distant and this one was more impressive still. He had frozen and Sano had, when he tugged on his sleeve to alert him of her presence, and they'd stared, mesmerized while she drank her fill, then languidly padded back into the cover of trees.

He'd heard tales in the villages they'd passed, of the occasional beast that developed a taste for human flesh, but for the most part, tigers avoided men. Just as well, for the notion of killing one - - if he were lucky enough to be on the winning side of such a conflict - - was abhorrent.

They'd veered sharply east from her territory and after another day or two of walking, come upon a dirt road with forest on one side and a rough-hewn irrigation canal on the other. It was no unusual sight, even in the remotest of areas. Agriculture was the life's blood of this country, and every village and town farmed something. They kept to the road, which seemed little traveled, and eventually came to pockets of crops amidst the forests. Sugar Cane mostly, young and green.

A boy with a straw basket over his shoulder came out of the forest from a footpath, onto the road ahead of them and Sano hailed him, asking what villages lay ahead. The boy eyed them warily, but weaponless as they were, they must have seemed little threat, because he shrugged and listed off a few names as he trudged along. Mostly small villages and farming outposts, the largest being a town four days walk away, where the women, the boy claimed, were famed for the quality of their weaving and their dyes.

They walked with him down the road, the boy having grown comfortable in their company, and glad for the security of two grown men. The roads were questionable in their safety, he said. Though no one in his village of twenty related farmers had been robbed, they'd heard tales from travelers of bandits on the roads.

And as if to justify the rumors, perhaps a half-mile further down, they came upon a flock of scavenger birds, fighting amongst themselves for some feast off the forested side of the road. The boy, as boys tended to do, ran ahead, waving his arms to chase away the birds and see what gory treasure they'd been pecking at. But he stopped, frozen and gagging as he stood at the edge of trampled grasses and when Sano came up behind him, he swore and caught the boy's thin shoulder and propelled him back onto the road and away from the sight.

Kenshin took stock of it himself in their wake. A body in the brush. The stench of it this close near to overwhelming. He clenched his teeth and drew air through his mouth, casting a glance back to Sano, who was keeping himself between the body and the boy. Small enough protection since the boy had already seen the bloated remains. The birds had been well about their work and there was little recognizable left of what had been a man. He hesitated to ask the boy to look again and see if he knew the man.

"He's been dead more than a day," Kenshin guessed. "Has anyone been missing from your village since yesterday?"

The boy shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think so. I came this way yesterday, but stayed with farmer Dipu over night - - I didn't see him then."

Likely the boy hadn't, if the corpse had been fresher and not yet discovered by the scavenger birds.

"We can't leave him for the birds," Kenshin said and Sano groaned a little, not happy with the prospect of going too near a body that had its insides dribbling out. But it was the decent thing to do, until the boy could summon the adults of his village to come and deal with it properly. So they piled grass upon the body, and then covered it with rocks to keep the birds away and mark the place it rested.

"Do you think bandits did this?" the boy asked, when they'd done.

"I don't know," Kenshin admitted. Hard to tell without looking and he had gone out of his way not to look too closely.

By late afternoon they reached the path that diverged off the road and led to the boy's village. They parted with him there, having no desire to be remembered by the villagers when and if they reported the discovery of the body to the local authorities.

"He didn't have a purse," Sano said once the boy was well down his own path. "Or a pack. A man traveling these parts would have one or the other, don't you think?"

"I would think," Kenshin agreed.

"Do you think it was bandits?"

"I don't know. If he'd been killed by an animal, likely it would have dragged him further into the jungle, I would think."

"I'd think, too. Man doesn't just drop dead on the side of the road for nothing."

"It's not entirely beyond belief."

Sano snorted, glancing into the shadows of the forest to their left warily, convincing himself that there were thieves lying in wait.

They made camp without incident, though they traded watches throughout the night, neither one of them trusting to good fortune to see them through.

It rained the next morning. A misting drizzle that made the leaves glisten and the road muddy. Clothes became sodden, and packs heavier with added moisture, but there was nothing for it, but to walk.

They broke their fast on mango, which Sano had stuffed their packs with, after finding a tree of ripe fruit. The rain kept up, creating a mist low to the ground as it competed with the heat. The forest was quiet and still with it, animals having the sense to go to ground someplace warm and dry. One might question why they still trudged through it, having no particular destination in mind. But men often exhibited less common sense than animals in such regards.

The gray afternoon revealed the dark shape of a wagon ahead on the road, stalled in its progress. A tall covered vargo, with faded paint on the wooden sides and all manner of objects, from metal harness pieces, to pots and pans to mysterious pieces of metalwork that Kenshin had no notion what they might be used for hanging from hooks off its sides. They all jangled, swinging precariously as the pair of mules hitched to the wagon's front strained to pull it forward.

It wasn't the wagon itself that caused the delay, but the smaller cart with what looked to be a traveling forge, attached behind it, one wheel stuck securely in a muddy rut. The old man sitting perched on the tall seat at the front of the van cursed in several languages, urging the animals on.

"Need a hand?" Sano called up, standing in the rain beside the front wheel.

The old man cursed again, hand going for the knife at his side.

"Damn you for coming upon a man unannounced," he glared down at them. "What do you want?"

Sano held out his hands, and Kenshin made sure the old man could plainly see his own, the both of them unarmed.

"We don't want anything," Sano said. "Just offered a little help. We're just as fine heading on our way."

The old man narrowed one eye, the other seemed a little opaque. His face was broad, his shoulders were. His arms, despite his age, thick with muscle. "Just a pair of travelers enjoying the fine day, are you?"

Sano shrugged. "We're not bandits, if that's what you're thinking."

"As if a pair of bandits would announce themselves as such."

"Sure. We'll be on our way then. Good luck to you."

The old man snorted, then waved a hand sharply towards the rear of his little caravan.

"Damned forge is stuck. Get behind her, if you want and give her a push."

The forge was a solid chunk of metal, a traveling furnace that weighed no small amount. It was muddy, hard work getting behind it and helping to rock it out of the pit the wheel was stuck in. The old man cursed at the mules and cursed at them and at his gods on every breath, until finally, with a suckling plop, the mud gave up its hold on the wheel and the little cart lurched out of the rut.

Sano went down on one knee in the mud behind it, but they were both already brown with it up to their chests, so it hardly mattered. He crouched there, one hand in the mud, breathing hard from the exertion. Kenshin did the same, bent over his knees, hair and mud and water streaming across his face.

The wagon shuddered to a halt and the old man leaned around the corner to glare at them. The one pale eye, next to the dark one, in the midst of his craggy face gave him an unsettling demeanor. He worked his mouth, as if he were struggling to get out words of gratitude. Finally he nodded briskly and said. "Can't be too careful on the road now days."

It was not exactly thanks, but one got the feeling that this particular old man did not often practice social niceties.

He slapped the reins and the mules slowly lurched into motion, pulling the creaking wagon along. A man afoot was hardly slower than the plodding pace of the smith's caravan. Short of falling back and resting off the side of the road to let the old man gain distance on them, there was nothing to do but walk along behind the wagon.

Finally, the old man looked back around the edge of the wooden van and asked.

"The two of you headed for Dhannagiri?"

"That the village where the women are known for their weaving?" Sano asked.

The old man narrowed his one good eye and nodded. "It is. Never been there?"

"This is the first time we've traveled this road." Kenshin said. "The first we've been this far north."

"Is it?" The old man turned back around, watching the road and the broad backs of his mules. "Foreigners, are you?"

"We are." Kenshin agreed.

"What gave us away?" Sano asked and the old man glanced back around with a scowl, before he shook his head and returned his eyes to the road.

"Been all the way to Peking, myself. I've seen a Chinaman or two."

"Yeah, well, you haven't seen two more today," Sano said.

"We're Japanese," Kenshin said, moving off the road to walk in the grass at the side of it, keeping pace with the wagon and the old man.

"Long way from home then. Never been that far myself. I'm not fond of ships."

A sentiment Kenshin could agree with. If he never boarded another sea going vessel again, he would feel no regret.

The day wore on, and eventually the rain stopped, leaving a road not much less treacherous with caked, drying mud. The old man wasn't much for small talk, and spent most of the day ignoring their presence.

Come late afternoon, they passed a bisecting road and a trio of ragged, weary seeming travelers. Two men and a teenaged boy, who waved them down, and asked how many days travel it was to Dhannagiri.

The old man begrudgingly slowed his mules and replied another day and a half.

"We've heard of bandits on the roads, especially after dark. Might we travel with you to Dhannagiri for the sake of safety?" the eldest seeming of the lot asked.

The two older men wore turbans, one sporting a full beard, the other a scruffy growth of whiskers. The boy, who might have been sixteen, was bare headed and skinny. The lot of them were as mud spattered and road weary as Kenshin suspected he and Sano were. They seemed harmless enough, poor travelers with a single pack among them, and weaponless as far as Kenshin could tell. Still, something about them made the skin on the back of his arms prickle. Perhaps it was the boy's eyes. The men wore nothing but honest weariness on their faces, but the boy's eyes flicked here and there, taking in the wagon, taking in Sano and himself in an attempt at furtiveness that he was too young to have perfected.

Of course, it might as well have been a boy, wary of strangers and frightened by too many tales of bandit butchery to trust them not to be predators themselves.

"I've no control over who walks the road," the old man snorted, slapping the reins and his team into motion again. "Travel where you want."

So the little group moved out onto the road with them, taking the wooded side, while Kenshin and Sano walked on the grass bordering the canal. Kenshin slowed his pace a little, dropping behind so he could watch the strangers and Sano accommodatingly shortened his strides to match him.

Sano seemed little concerned, chewing on a stem of young, wild sugar cane that he'd found sprouted on this side of the canal.

"A great many travelers to converge at once, on such a back road," Kenshin remarked quietly.

Sano canted his head, glancing at him, then ahead at the backs of the three men. "You don't trust them?"

Kenshin shrugged. "I don't know them."

During certain times and places in his life, that alone would have been enough to suspect. At times, even a decade and more after the fact, he still found himself drifting back into the mindset of a hitokiri. Trust nothing and no one. He took a breath, trying to shake off the feeling. Not at all sure it was not ingrained paranoia creating concern where there was no cause.

"So we take turns at watch tonight," Sano said. "None of them look like they'd be much trouble in a fight."

"Hnn." Kenshin didn't bother to disagree. He'd known no few assassins that had seemed as inept and innocent as newborn babes. He'd used that tactic himself a time or two to gain advantage.

Come dusk, when the road became difficult to navigate for a team of mules hauling a top heavy wagon and an ungainly forge, the old man pulled off to a clearing on the side, with a surly warning to all concerned that he wanted no beggars round his fire asking for a taste of his supper. He unhitched his team and tethered them near the tall grass where they could graze to their hearts content, then went about building a little campfire where he proceeded to cook simple fare of boiled rice.

Sano and Kenshin could have traveled on, not so picky about traveling the road at night, but Kenshin balked, that uncertainty still making the hairs stand up on his skin. He hesitated at leaving the old man, surly and unsocial as he was, alone in the company of the three travelers.

So they laid out their own bedrolls at the edge of the wood, not far from the mules, where there was a clear view of the spot that the three travelers had settled.

Though the old man was stingy with his food, he did relent with his tea, and added water to the pot, offering weak, watered down brew to the group at large. Sano and Kenshin ate the last of their fruit, and drank tea from their own battered cups, while the three travelers did the same, the lot of them gathered around the old man's fire.

"You're a blacksmith?" Sano asked, after he'd tossed the pit of his second mango into the fire.

The old man gave him a narrow look and asked dryly. "What gave me away, boy?"

Sano grinned, pleased no doubt that the old man had recalled his earlier insolence. "I didn't think you hauled that hunk of metal around for good luck."

"It's brought me my share. Aye, I'm a smith."

"Honest profession," Sano said. "I've known a few here and there. Good men. Great to have at your back in a brawl."

The old man gave Sano a closer look. His mouth twitched slightly in a smile.

Kenshin looked across the fire at the travelers and asked quietly. "What is it that you travel to Dhannagiri for?"

The boy blinked at him, surprised that he'd asked. But the oldest of the men, the one with the full, grey speckled beard smiled and said. "The wedding of my niece. It will be a fine celebration."

"I wish her good fortune." Kenshin inclined his head slightly. "From where do you hail?"

"Chagahri, a small village to the west. Do you know it?" the man asked.

"I've heard of it," the smith said. "Farmers, mostly."

"Yes," the man nodded, still smiling, yellowed teeth against dark beard. He looked back to Kenshin. "And you? You come from a greater distance yet, no?"

"A great distance, yes," Kenshin agreed, not smiling back.

The talk dwindled as the fire crackled low. The old man retired to the back of his wagon to sleep, while the rest of them retreated to their separate spots.

Kenshin urged Sano to take his sleep, having no inclination to find his own. He settled though, in his blankets next to Sano, in the pretense of sleep, and lay listening to the sounds of nightlife in the forest, the croak and splash of the occasional frog in the canal, the soft sounds of Sano's breath. The three travelers lay quiet and still in their own spot, a cluster of dark forms near the forest edge.

The fire died down to nothing, and even the mules quieted their rustling, dark shadows standing with their head down, dozing. There was a quiet in the forest. An unnatural silence that Kenshin almost missed entirely until one of the mules twitched an ear and lifted its head to look towards the wood. Then he heard the faint rustle of underbrush disturbed.

He nudged Sano. Saw the white of his eye as he blinked himself awake, and jerked his own head towards the woods. There were multiple bodies out there - - he could distinguish the sound of men trying to tread quietly through uncooperative underbrush. Two, three - - maybe another approaching from the right. If they'd been watching them, they'd go for he and Sano first - - the two of them the more dangerous threat. They could take the old man and his wagon full of possessions with more ease then.

He pushed himself up, quieter by far in the darkness than the converging predators, and heard a yell. The boy across the clearing, who'd been no more sleeping than he had, screaming warning, now that the surprise was lost, and men spilled out of the forest.

He spun on a dark shadow hurtling towards him. A man with a dagger, that he blocked on the way down, snaring the man's wrist even as he kicked his knee in, using his other hand to help him down, a palm in his face slamming his head into the ground. He tumbled forward as another rushed at him, trying to snare him with the thin wire of a garrote the man held between his hands. Heard the grunt and thud of Sano taking on his own opponents and couldn't spare the time to look and see. Trusting Sano to handle his own affairs.

They were screaming like devils, men spilling out of the darkness, more than the three or four that he'd first assumed stalking the forest and that not even counting the three they had taken into their company. But none of them armed with more than daggers and clubs and none of them proficient with the use of them. Clumsy, desperate men who'd reckoned surprise and numbers would win the day. Not reckoning at all on encountering men who knew a thing or two about fighting.

It was a jumbled confusion in the darkness, and he took down anything that wasn't Sano shaped, until he heard the creak of the wagon and the old man's cry, and the old man at the back door of the van, struggling with the boy, who had a rope around his neck, trying to strangle him. He left the stragglers to Sano then, the ones that hadn't turned tail and run into the woods already, and stalked the boy, who was struggling to keep control of an old man five times his age. The boy gave up the fight, before Kenshin reached him and ran, pelting into the darkness, leaving the old man gasping for air on the ground at the foot of his wagon.

Kenshin looked over his shoulder, seeking more enemies and found only Sano, dusting his hands and casually prodding a moaning shape on the ground with his foot.

Four unconscious, or barely conscious men on the ground, others fled into the darkness. A dangerous lot on the loose, responsible perhaps for the body they'd found days back on the road, if not a good many more. An inept lot though, and poorly prepared for men who made a career of robbing other men. Surely these men were not the same band responsible for attacking army supply trains and well-guarded caravans.

"Are you all right?" He held out a hand to the old man, who grimaced and accepted it, holding his other arm close to his side.

"Threw my shoulder out," the old smith complained, swearing and rotating the arm stiffly. "Damned filthy thieves - -"

Sano sauntered over, looking none the worse for wear, save for the slightly bloodied knuckles of one hand. He jerked his chin towards the sprawled bodies. "What do we do with them?"

"What they planned for us," the old smith groused. "Slit their throats and leave them for forest scavengers."

"No," Kenshin had no taste for execution. They might well deserve it, but he was not inclined to decide that fate, nor carry it out, himself. "Is there a constable in Dhannagiri?"

"I won't be hauling the bastards alongside my wagon," the old smith declared, then added. "But I've a notion - -"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three

The old man's notion being the use of a pile of old manacles and chains that the smith produced from a box of scrap metal in the back of his wagon. Sano and Kenshin went about snapping rusty manacles around the ankles of the incapacitated bandits and fastening the chains around the thick bole of a tree at the edge of the clearing. The conscious bandits complained vigorously, threatening and begging successively at being abandoned at forest's edge. Even if their fellows returned they'd have no easy time freeing their comrades from their bonds. And if they didn't then two or three days chained to a tree was little enough hardship for what they'd been about, until authorities from Dhannagiri might return to deal with them. At the very least it would keep them off their trail.

They helped the old man hitch the team of mules, who were in no wise happy at being roused and put to work before the break of dawn, and left the group of complaining bandits in their wake. For the first few miles, Sano and Kenshin walked the forest side of the trail, wary for attack from the shelter of trees. But none came, and eventually the old man slowed the wagon and snapped for them to take the perch on the back.

"Might as well ride," he said, grudgingly. "And there's a berth in the back, if one of you wants to take an hour or two's sleep before day breaks."

It was likely as much thanks as they were going to get from the sullen old smith, and Sano shrugged and hopped onto the back ledge of the van, opening the top half of the door and peering in.

"You might as well take him up on it," Sano said. "I've had my few hours sleep. Damned if I could sleep with all that iron jangling above my head anyway."

And there was a suspicious array of metal hanging from hooks in the ceiling of the van. Everything from scythe blades and shovelheads, to wheel hubs and cast iron pans, gears and harness bits, all of it swaying precariously with the motion of the wagon.

There was an unrolled futon in the narrow space between trunks and boxes secured to the side walls, with blankets still rumpled from the old man's interrupted sleep. It was as attractive a bed as any he'd slept in recently, despite the dangling bits and pieces of iron, and he'd been awake long enough that his body felt the need for a bit of honest slumber. He shrugged and accepted the offer. Sano fastened the both portions of the back door open against the back of the wagon and sat in the doorway, one foot dangling, the other propped on the hitch that connected wagon to forge.

A good vantage to observe the road behind them, and Kenshin felt secure enough with Sano on watch to fall into the old man's bed and let sleep take him.

hr

It was early morning when they stopped, and Kenshin figured he'd gotten perhaps three hours sleep. Rocking wagon and swaying odd bits of iron above his head or no, he was good at taking rest when time and circumstance allowed.

The old man, Ayog was his name, had a care for his mules, ancient themselves. So they stopped at the edge of a field of sugar cane not much taller than a man's hip to feed and water the animals. It was doubtful that the particular bandits that plagued this road would try them again, especially with half their numbers chained to a tree. And with the fields on one side and the canal on the other, there was little vantage for ambush regardless.

The old man had offered generously to share breakfast with them, his mood greatly improved having survived last night thanks to them. It was dried fish and rice spiced with curry and flakes of dried vegatables and flat bread cooked over a small fire set up on the canal side of the road, away from the grasses bordering the fields. A grand affair, for road fare, but Kenshin supposed the old man was feeling the need to show gratitude that did not extend to actually speaking the words.

A year and a half in India and Kenshin had become used to food spicier than he would have preferred, but the old smith had a taste for fire in his cooking and every bite of rice needed a chaser of tea and plain bread to dull the heat. Sano loved it, but then Sano had eaten things in the course of their travel that Kenshin's stomach turned a little thinking about.

"So, your names don't sound Chinese," the old man commented when they'd finished up the meal to the last grain of rice, the three of them sitting at the edge of the canal, watching minnows dart in and out of the reeds. "Where are you from?"

"Japan," Sano offered.

"You're a long way from home, then."

"Yes," Kenshin agreed.

"Been as far as Peking myself, but never to Japan. Don't much care for ships."

"No," Kenshin agreed.

"I've been to Peking," Sano said. "I liked Shanghai better. Not nearly as stuffy. Nicer women."

Ayog cackled. "Knew a woman in Shanghai myself in my youth."

Sano's interest perked and he and the old man went on a bit, reminiscing about whores encountered during their various travels. Kenshin sat and listened, half an ear to their boasts, half an ear to the sounds of the crickets and the frogs and the distant chatter of birds. A casual morning of feeding and mating and squabbling with nothing human stalking the shadows to interrupt the litany.

Sano's stories changed with his audience, cruder or tamer depending on who listened to his boasts. The old smith had a taste for the vulgar and Sano's descriptive details reflected just that and the two of them amused themselves greatly trading tales.

Kenshin might have blushed, if he hadn't heard it all before. He got the feeling half Sano's bragging was just that anyway, designed to provoke; Sano glancing at him now and then, with that sly smile on his face only reinforcing the suspicion. Besides, believing most of Sano's fables were just that, stories made up to impress the impressionable, was a more comfortable thing to accept. He might be just a little annoyed, otherwise at Sano's promiscuity.

Certainly Sano had held no great talent wooing women during their years of friendship in Japan. Rather he'd been good at irritating and annoying them. At least the honest, respectable ones. Perhaps that's why all his stories centered around women of ill-repute.

There had been a particular geisha in Tokyo, though, that Sano had claimed association with - - Kenshin frowned, tossing a rock into the canal in a sudden spurt of irritation. It hit with a splash that caused Sano and the old man pause. Kenshin smiled the smile he usually used when he needed a façade to cover less pleasant emotions and claimed he'd seen a water snake.

Sano and Ayog peered into the brown water warily and decided thereafter to smother the little fire and return the cookware to the back of the wagon.

He had no notion why the idea of Sano and Sano's visitation of whores rubbed him so raw of a sudden. It was no breaking news, and yet - - ten years he'd wondered Japan, from one end to the other and back again and not once had he felt the need to buy the services of a woman. He had practically lived the life of a monk, his interest in sex confined for the most part to the morning requirements of any healthy young male. Sano had traveled China for a handful of years and he claimed to have visited half the whorehouses from Peking to Shanghai.

"What?" Sano asked in an undertone, while the old man rustled in the back of his wagon, storing his cooking supplies.

Kenshin gave him an oblivious look, pretending at no thoughts deeper than the state of the morning sky. Sano lifted a brow, not believing it. But the old smith had reappeared at the back door of the van and Kenshin was saved from avoiding the explanation of something he had no understanding of anyway.

"With thieves roaming the countryside, a man might feel safer armed," Ayog said, patting the big knife at his belt. "I've a few old blades, if either of you want."

"No," Kenshin said having no desire to have more than the small knife Pakshi had given him, even as Sano leaned forward and asked. "What've you got?"

The old man grinned. "Not offering anything that'll get you in trouble with the British - - grab hold of this chest, boy - -"

Sano wrestled a trunk big enough to fit a body in from the back of the wagon out to the ground. It had an archaic lock, which the old man opened with a key he kept in a jar. Inside was a considerable collection of arms. If it was made of metal and designed to kill or maim a man, Ayog had it in the chest. Blades of all sorts, curved scimitars, heavy axes, a wide bladed broad sword, ornate garish foils. No few daggers and knives, curved and wicked, thin and devious, one that could only have been used for ornamention it was so covered in fine etching and metal scrollwork of gold and silver.

"It's a hobby of mine," Ayog said, picking through the assorted jumble of blades and choosing a serviceable dagger to hold out to Sano. "The collection of fine metal work. My grandfather was a weapon's smith, but the British frown on the making of weapons that might be used against them, so my father never practiced the art. Nor taught it to me. I can appreciate the workmanship of others though.

He lifted a big, entirely clumsy seeming broad sword and pulled out a more graceful blade in a weathered, brown sheath. "This one's from your homeland. Older than me, if I'm any judge."

He offered it and Kenshin couldn't stop himself from taking it. From closing his hand around a sheath that was cracked from age, the leather strapping of the hilt close to dry rotted and rough under his palm. But when he unsheathed it, three foot of blade sliding like butter from the aged sheath, the metal gleamed as if it had been newly forged. The most balanced sword he'd ever held, rotting hilt or no. It felt like an extension of his own flesh and bone and he'd forgotten almost what it felt like to hold steel so balanced and so perfectly forged that it felt alive. That it felt like it had been made to fit his hand.

He let out a breath, hardly aware that he'd been holding it, and shivered with a sudden, overwhelming want of this blade. The overwhelming need to have that familiar, comfortable weight in his belt again. A dangerous need, because this was no reverse blade, but a sword with a killing edge. A sword that would draw blood when wielded and he'd already broken the vow he'd made so long ago. Already killed again. And it hadn't plagued him, the taking of Winter's life. The man had been remorseless. A killer, who manipulated and inflicted pain for his own gain and his own twisted pleasures and Kenshin had given him the justice he deserved. And the sakabatou, even with its killing edge on the wrong side, had slid into his flesh as easily as any normal blade. And if Kenshin had felt anything - -it hadn't been remorse.

He shut his eyes and slid it back into its sheath blind.

Another breath and he presented it back to the smith, his hands shaking ever so slightly.

"A very fine blade. An old one."

The smith took it back, eyeing Kenshin speculatively. "I won it from a trader - - oh, thirty years ago - - and he likely stole it himself. Claimed it was the blade of some shogun, but he was a liar and a cheat, so his word meant nothing."

"Thirty years ago there were a lot of shogun," Sano remarked.

Kenshin said nothing, flexing his hand.

"You're a swordsman."

It wasn't a question. Kenshin inclined his head slightly. "I was."

The old man stared at him a moment longer, then nodded and laid the katana atop the rest in the trunk.

hr

Sano kept the knife. It wasn't like he needed it for any advantage in a fight, his hands being all the weapon he needed, but a knife had other uses. And it was a decent knife that might in a pinch bring a few coin if he needed it badly enough, and Sano was never one to turn down offers of free things. Unlike Kenshin, who was going out of his way not to look back into that trunk full of sharp pointy things at the old katana. The look on his face when he'd held that naked blade had been as akin to arousal as Sano had seen in - - well, in a damned long time. But then swordsmen were a funny lot when it came to their blades, and Kenshin had been no exception, back when he'd been carrying the sakabatou regularly, treating the thing like it was a revered member of his family.

When the old man closed the chest and relocked it, Kenshin sighed softly, as if in some relief and walked to stare at the canal as Sano wrestled the thing back into the wagon. It was back on the road after that, them taking turns riding up front with the old man while the other walked the road, wary of human predators stalking the way.

By nightfall the shoulder the old man had thrown out in the attack had gone stiff and sore, and he cursed with fluent creativeness the bastard boy who'd thrown him to the ground and done it. Sano and Kenshin unhitched the mules when they stopped for the night. Dhannagiri was only a few more hours down the road, Ayag claimed, but the beasts had had a long haul, with their rest the night before interrupted, and he was loath to risk them by pushing on needlessly.

The road had meandered away from the canal, and they used water from jugs hanging off the side of the wagon for supper. Plain fare again, of rice and fried bread left over from earlier, but it was better than roots and the old man seemed happy to share considering their help.

Afterwards, they sat around the crackling fire. Sano and Ayog carryied the conversation, while Kenshin quietly listened, oft times staring past them into the fire or the darkness of the woods, thinking gods knew what, but not Sano thought, paying great heed to what they said.

Sano spoke of his training with the little Chinese on the mainland, the months of building up stamina he hadn't realized he'd been lacking, longer than he'd ever spent learning the basics of a skill before mastering it. Ayog laughed, claiming that no skill learned in a few months was a skill worthy of having. He himself had apprenticed four years to his father, before he'd ever been allowed to strike a hammer to metal. And then he'd apprenticed another five before he'd been allowed to mold anything more complex than a horseshoe. It had taken that long to gain the strength needed to work the forge.

"You look to have a strength about you boy," the old man scoffed. "But it takes years to build the strength it takes to work hammer and forge day in and day out."

"How much strength does it take to beat a piece of iron?" Sano scoffed right back, holding up a fist criss crossed with pale white scars. "And its not just strength, its channeling of power, focusing everything into a blow that can shatter rock if I want."

Ayog held up his good hand, clenching a big fist with its own faded scarring. "You think you can take me in a match of strength, boy?"

Sano laughed. "Old man, I'd wipe the floor with you."

Kenshin did glance at him then, with what Sano suspected was a roll of his eyes under the shadow of his hair, but Sano ignored him.

"I wouldn't feel right, pushing an injured old man beyond his limits," Sano said magnanimously.

"If it were my injured arm that I was pushing, I'd have a worry. Fetch a crate from the wagon, boy, instead of wagging your tongue."

Sano laughed, and hauled a crate from the back of the wagon, placing it between them in the little camp. Ayog flexed his good right arm, which was, Sano had to admit, a good deal thicker than his. But big didn't necessarily guarantee superior strength. He'd taken down men twice his size before. He planted his elbow on the crate top and presented his hand. The old smith grinned and did the same.

An easy match, he wasn't anticipating, but he hadn't expected not to make a dent against the old man's strength at the get go. The old man's arm was solid as rock, and his strength just as imperturbable. Sano bared his teeth in a grin and leaned forward just a little to readjust leverage. The old man tested him and he held firm, their fists firmly at center crate.

"Sixty years working the forge," Ayog grunted. "Builds strength that no green behind the ears braggart who's spent a few years breaking boards can match."

"Ha!" Sano ground his teeth and managed to move the old man's hand a fraction of an inch. "Add ten years to that and it makes you an old geezer way past his prime. Maybe thirty years ago you could have taken me."

Ayog narrowed his eyes, veins cording in his neck. Sano sincerely hoped the old man didn't have a heart attack.

A drop of rain hit their joined fists. Then another, as the dark sky leisurely began to weep.

"Ready to give?" Ayog grunted. "Before your hair gets wet?"

"No. You? Wouldn't want you to catch a chill, old man."

He was half aware, past his focus on keeping the old man from pinning his hand, of Kenshin making a disgusted sound and rising, softly saying that he was going to sit in the back of the wagon out of the rain. Sano was almost certain he heard him add a very soft 'fools', as he was retreating and he cast half an indignant glare at his back.

The old man almost took him with the distraction, gaining back that inch and gaining one himself. The rain made for slick skin and treacherous grips. Even if it was in good humor, with no lives on the line, it was a contest and Sano took his contests seriously. If he lost to a seventy year old man, even one with arms like tree boles, his conscience would never let him forget it.

He'd been taught by a disgraced monk the art of channeling all the strength of his body, all the focus of his power into the single point of a blow. Come to find out, powerful as the art was, it was still a pretty unrefined one. He'd learned better things since, that didn't put all his eggs in the basket of one powerful punch that was as likely to cripple him, as it was to shatter whatever it was he was trying to take out.

Still, the technique of gathering that strength, of focusing it, of building up to one powerful lunge - - not to shatter, but simply to overcome - - seemed apropos.

He drew in a breath, let it out in a long whistle, channeled his focus and with a powerful jerk, slammed the old man's wrist to the crate. Ayog cursed, shaking out his hand, even as Sano did, his arm feeling trembling and weak now that the stress was gone.

"Son of a bitch," he flexed his hand, rubbing his shoulder with the other one. "You're one tough old bastard."

The old man gave him a narrow, rain drenched look, before his mouth split in a crooked grin. "You're the first man to beat me since I was nineteen and too full of myself to know a loosing proposition when it sat down in front of me."

Contest over, the rain demanded they take notice. Kenshin moved back from the open back door of the wagon van, making room for Sano and the old man to settle under the shelter of the roof.

"Proud of yourself, are you, by a victory over a venerable elder?" Kenshin asked, when Sano gave him a grin, still flushed from his victory.

"It was hard won," Sano defended himself. "_You_ wanna try me?"

"He's mannerly, this one." The old man remarked, jerking his chin at Kenshin.

Kenshin shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his mouth, before he leaned back against a chest, eyes shut.

"It's been close to a year since I've been this way. Come tomorrow, when we reach Dhannagiri," the old man said. "There will be a fair amount of work and me with a lame arm. If you're looking to make a coin or two, I could use an extra set of hands to help work the forge for a day or two."

Sano lifted a brow. "What sort of coin? From what I hear, smithing is hard work."

Ayog laughed. "A quarter of what I take in, in coin and trade. Dhannagiri is close to 600 people and they pay well."

Sano shrugged, hiding the elation of such a lucrative offer behind a casual inclination of his head. "Mind you, I'm not looking for a career, but I've nothing better to do."

"Ha," the old man snorted. "You haven't got the stamina or the patience to be a smith. But you'll do for the grunt work."

hr

Dhannagiri, when they reached it early the next day, was a sprawling village of stone and thatch houses three times the size of the last village they had stopped. There was a temple at town's center with a fine spire topped with painted ceramic tiles and a broad main street where women sat on shaded walks, looms between their knees, spinning thread and cloth.

Children ran to greet the blacksmith's wagon, trailed by a few elders, curious to see what was rolling into their village. Ayog's name was called by a few that recognized him, and the cry went up, more people coming out to the streets to greet him.

An occasion then, as he was welcomed, trading handshakes with old men, and ruffling the hair of curious children.

He parked his wagon and forge at the edge of town, and directed Sano and Kenshin to set up an awning against the side of the wagon, and then to place stone blocks and lug the solid lump of metal that was his anvil out from where he stored it in the cold forge, and sit it upon the blocks. Already villagers had begun to pester Ayog with requests. Housewives for the repair of broken kitchen utensils, for new iron griddles and pans, for the gears that worked the looms that so many of the women in this village used. Men brought broken shovels and hoes, plow heads and farm tools to be mended.

It promised to be a busy day. Some things he sold from his stock, axe heads and springs, and various cookware already forged. Other's needed the mending of heat and iron. They fired the forge early on, first with wood, then with coal the old man carried with him. And Sano found himself put to work, gripping iron work with a pair of tongs and positioning it to the old man's liking as he pounded it upon the anvil. It was hot work and hard work and he developed a new appreciation of the old man's occupation.

Kenshin was spared the rigors of it for the most part, too many bodies around the anvil and the forge making the old man short of temper. So he was left to his own devices, which mostly entailed speaking to the villagers that came by, and promising their wants would be seen to in due order, or wondering the village.

He came back once, after finding the merchant who doubled for the town's constable and said that he'd reported the bandits chained back on the road. The constable, Kenshin said, had been preparing to gather a few impromptu deputies and head back to see if they were still there.

There was more trading for work than actual coin, and people came with bags of rice or meal, dried vegetables and spices, with trinkets or embroidery to offer for smith work.

Sano got a fine vest, high collared and sleeveless with colorful embroidery around the edges, and a handful of trinkets that Ayog had no interest in. A necklace of polished black beads, with a dangling tiger claw as a pendant. Along with a portion of the food, that Ayog promised, even with only a few measly coins, Sano felt that it was a day well spent.

He was hot and filthy from ash by the time Ayog declared the day done. An acquaintance of Ayog's had invited the old smith, and his 'apprentices' for dinner and Sano hadn't bothered to contest the claim in the face of a free meal. There was a stream not far beyond the town that the villagers used for washing and cooking, and Ayog led them to it to rinse away the day's grime. Kenshin and Sano moved down the bank from where the old man squatted, splashing water on hands and arms.

Sano had gone shirtless during the day, and he pulled his relatively clean shirt from his pack and used it to wash the grime from his skin. Kenshin sat on a rock near him, having, from the look of him having already made use of this stream earlier in the day when he'd had time to waste while the old man had been working Sano like a slave.

"Not a bad day," Sano said.

Kenshin made an agreeable sound, watching the glint of early moonlight off the gentle water of the stream while he idly twisted the tail of hair draped across his shoulder into a rope.

"It should take men not traveling at the pace of a pair of mules less than a day to reach the place we left the bandits," he remarked.

"Unless they hacked off their hands at the wrist, they'll still be there."

Kenshin gave him a look, brows drawn. "Desperate men might."

"Can't say I'd ever be that desperate. Can't say I care one way or another about those bastards. They'll get what they deserve one way or another."

He stuffed his old shirt into his pack, wet from the stream and donned his new vest and his necklace, then held out his arms and grinned at Kenshin.

"What do you think?"

Kenshin canted his head, gaze taking in his new attire. Silent a handful of breaths before he lifted his eyes to meet Sano's and said softly. "You look - - very nice. It is a fine vest."

"Yeah," Sano agreed. He dug in his pack and came out with the other trinket he'd gotten as part of his payment. A simple leather thong with little dangling pendant, that looked so aged that the metal was green and pitted from the ravages of time. The work was intricate though and Ayog after taking a brief look had said that it was likely very old and that someone had probably found it in some ruins or another. Sano liked the idea of it being an antiquity. Kenshin was sort of that, in the ideas that he held and the arts that he practiced - - or had used to practice.

"Here. I got this for you."

Kenshin reached out and took it, holding it by the thong almost reverently. He looked up past it to meet Sano's eyes. "What is it?"

"I dunno. A charm, the lady who traded it said. Old as the hills. The charm, not the lady." Sano grinned.

Kenshin closed his hand around the pendant, that look in his eye that hinted maybe he was taking it more seriously than Sano had meant it. But then sometimes Kenshin got superstitious about odd things. He'd ignore the notion of ghosts or various supernatural things, but be very, very careful around shrines and holy places, doing his best to keep them both from not offending whatever deities or spirits might be lurking around.

"Thank you, Sano." Kenshin slipped it over his head and it hung just visible in the V of his shirt.

Sano nodded, pleased. "So let's go catch up with the old man and see about dinner."

hr

Kenshin had said what Sano looked was nice, but really a more appropriate word would have been decadent.

Sano had caught him off guard, which Sano quite often did, with the flash of a broad white grin, with the flex of tanned skin against the bleached white of native homespun linen. The open edges of the vest framing the hard planes of his chest and stomach, the fine embroidery at the sleeveless arms emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders. The necklace just made it more apparent, drawing the eye inexplicably down to taut belly and almost indecently low slung, loose trousers. It was no wonder the daughters of Ayog's friend giggled and laughed behind their hands, casting sloe eyed looks their way as they politely stood at the old man's shoulder while he exchanged greetings with his friend.

The village baker, a man of some repute in his small town, welcomed them vigorously, inviting Ayog and the two off them into his home among his family. Four daughters, two sons, a wife and a mother and a mother-in-law made for a bustling home. But his business was good and his sons were bakers in their own right now and his eldest daughter had married a farmer with a large holding. He and Ayog had been friends since Ayog had traveled with his father, an apprentice himself.

There was tea, that the daughters served around a long wooden table with fine individually carved chairs, very few of them matching. There was a daughter between himself and Sano, and Sano was flirting, one arm resting across the back of his chair, the edge of the vest revealing the hard line of his chest and the slice of one brown nipple. It was no great thing here, the people being far less modest than the people of Japan, and Sano had gone the day with no scrap of cloth above his waist, but still, it irked somewhat - - the daughter, the very pretty daughter - - leaning forward and laughing with false modesty at some remark of Sano's. And Sano grinning back. And it shouldn't have, the flirting being simply Sano letting off steam, and Kenshin knowing very well that nothing would come of it. Still - -

Kenshin took a gulp of tea, barely tasting it, the notion occurring to him of a sudden that it was jealousy he was feeling. Pure and simple and he had no right to it. He had betrayed his marriage vows, and the gods or karma or fate had taken full payment for it. Kaoru dead. Kenji dead. Taken by the sea. Payment for his sins. His failures.

His weakness. Which he still suffered. A strong man would have walked this path alone, but when Sano offered his company, he'd relented, Sano being the one thing left in the world that he loved more than life. But it had been selfishness. Because the things Sano still wanted of him he couldn't allow himself the luxury of giving. _His_ punishment, self inflicted and he made Sano suffer it with him.

But it had been easier that first year, when the grief still ate at him until he was hollow most days, barely aware of the road they walked. He still grieved for them, but lately, it was distant, sometimes not in the forefront of his thoughts at all. Lately, these last few months, he even found the occasion to laugh at something Sano said, or enjoy the taste of food again. Or found himself appreciating the way the muscles in Sano's back flexed when he went about some task.

Close to two years ago, he'd asked if Sano wouldn't be happier finding himself a woman and a home, and Sano had refused it. Now, the idea of Sano visiting whores and Sano flirting shamelessly with a daughter while her father and brothers were in attendance made the scars on his palms itch.

He took a breath and touched the little charm Sano had given him. Old. Sano was right there. And the old things held the most power. He knew Sano enough to know that it had been a passing thought on Sano's part, the gift, but Sano had put in honest work for it and Sano had kept it all the day, waiting to give it to him and it mattered.

He took another more measured breath, not quite understanding why, these last days, he'd been so hyperaware of things taken for granted on the trail for months before. Perhaps it had been the beating Sano had taken. Neither of them had taken great injury before this since they'd reached these shores. A long stretch of relative peace had been shattered and it had set him on edge was all. Triggered protective instincts that had been dormant for no small time, which triggered other things.

The baker's wife and two of her daughters came bearing the first course of dinner and everyone's attention became focused on that. Bowls of shukto, a dish made from diced white radish, potatoes, beans, vegetables and bitter melon. After that they brought out plain boiled white rice and dal made from red lentils. And finally, this being a meal of some import since they had guests to impress, fried fish with a thin yogurt sauce. It was the grandest meal Sano or he had partaken of in months and the simple enjoyment of food distracted Kenshin from his uneasy thoughts.

After the meal though, when all but the youngest children retreated to the low walled garden to enjoy what was left of the night in good company, Kenshin begged his leave, politely thanking the baker and his wife for their hospitality, but feeling distinctly out of place amongst the happy familial crowd. So he left Sano and Ayog accepting small tumblers of what the baker claimed proudly to be imported brandy, preferring the solitude of the night darkened village streets.

He went to the village stream, crouching to wash hands and forearms, and splash a little cool water on his face. Stayed that way for a while, listening to the croaking of frogs upstream, where the forest had encroached a little on the opposite side of the stream. Something larger rustled in the wood and he thought of bandits and jungle predators. Old reflex made his hand go for the hilt of a sword that was no longer there, and he took a breath, closing his fist over nothing. Crouched there silently until a large, rodent like creature waddled out from the woods and plunged its snout into the water.

He blew out his breath and rose, and it froze, black eyes fixed on him in fright. He inclined his head at it, moving away and allowing it the stream. Back to Ayog's wagon at the edge of town, where bedrolls could be made under the awning. The hairs on the back of his arms prickled before he reached the shadows under the tarp, and he hesitated, but it was only Sano leaning against the wagon's side, half swallowed by darkness.

"You didn't stay," Kenshin stated the obvious.

Sano shrugged. "And listen to two old men bullshit all night? There was only the one round of booze, so I figured - -" he shrugged again, staring at Kenshin, but it was hard to see his eyes in the shadow. The pale shape of the tiger claw stood in relief against the darker hues of his skin. Kenshin looked away, moving past him towards the back of the wagon where their packs were stored.

And stopped when Sano put out an arm, blocking his path.

"Something bothering you?"

"No." Quiet denial.

"Really? Cause I'm getting the feeling otherwise."

Kenshin shrugged, not willing to dispute Sano's observation. They were both entitled their moods. He didn't complain of Sano's sulks or bad tempers when they came upon him.

Sano made a sound, a sort of frustrated half laugh, and shifted, crowding Kenshin between himself and the side of the wagon, both palms on the wood to either side of Kenshin's shoulders. Breath stalled. The skin that almost touched Sano pimpled, hair tingling. He could not make himself meet Sano's eyes, afraid of what he'd see there.

"You think I'm so stupid I can't read you by now? You're pissed at something, I'm just not sure what."

"Sano - - I'm not. Just - -" To force an escape, he'd have to brush against Sano, and he wasn't sure he ought to do that now. He just needed a night to get his emotions under control. To remind himself of all the things he had promised himself he'd no longer indulge.

There was no safe place to stare with Sano crowded in so close, so he shut his eyes and stood there, trying to calm his breathing, very much afraid the tempo of his breath might give him away.

"Sano, let me pass."

He said it blindly and Sano made a sound, and pressed forward, full against him in the shadow of the awning. He made a sound of his own, an exhalation of surprised breath at the shock of Sano's solid weight against him. The unmistakable feel of Sano's half hard erection against his stomach. His own stirring one. He bared his teeth, no control at all over it, or the fluttering shiver of sensation in his gut.

Sano caught his wrists before he could lift them to shove him away, and leaned there, very much in a position of leverage, mouth against Kenshin's cheek. "Does it bother you, when I talk with the pretty girls?"

"Let go, Sano," he jerked against Sano's hold and Sano pressed harder. He could bring a knee up and move him that way, but he wasn't at that desperate point yet, to half cripple Sano in his efforts to flee him.

"You wanna wrestle? I'm game. I'm thinking something a little more full contact than just pinning an arm, huh?"

Sano pressed a thigh between his legs, rubbing hard against his genitalia and it betrayed him. Absolutely and fully roused to the contact and no way to deny it. For a handful of heartbeats he couldn't think, he couldn't get past the sensation, the utter pain pleasure of the body's need too long denied. Then the guilt flooded back, shuffling itself between what his body wanted and all the reasons in his head he had to deny it. He slammed his skull back against the rough wood of the wagon hard enough to see stars, needing that pain to draw focus from the other. Again and the pain blossomed bright and red.

"Idiot," Sano snarled at him, breath hot in his ear. "You gonna punish us both forever?

Then he pushed away. And there was no answer to that. No standing there with embarrassing bulges straining at both their pants, so he silently stalked away, fleeing Sano and the pressures Sano brought to bear.

Sano didn't pursue him, or even call after him. No small relief, since Kenshin's head was throbbing as much from guilty turmoil as his self-inflicted knock. Back to the stream and across it, using a few smooth rocks to make his way. He walked the forested bank, concentrating on nothing more complex than the path under his sandals. The stream wound its way into the forest beyond the borders of the town and he followed it, finally feeling the tension bleed away as the village itself did. Just trees then and nighttime sounds and he stopped, leaning a shoulder against the bole of a smooth barked tree. The pressure in his pants had gone away, but his head still throbbed. He lifted a hand and gingerly touched the small knot at the back of his skull.

He was an idiot. He felt one now, too many confusing emotions churning about. Guilt foremost among them. A fleeting image of her face crossed his mind. Almost he looked for her in the darkness, a quiet slim shape in the shadows. He'd seen glimpses of her often in those first months after her death. Glimpses though a crowd, or in the shadows of a trail. It was his own brand of insanity, he knew. Though he did not disbelieve in ghosts and spirits of the dead, he did not believe in hers. His own insurmountable guilt at the best; at the worst, broken sanity.

He'd been content enough with the notion of his own private haunting. But it had been a while since he'd seen them. He'd had fleeting thoughts at best of them these last weeks, thoughts distracted by other things. Perhaps that's why Sano had been so prominent in his mind. Sano, who he ought to be angry at, but admitted to himself that holding that grudge would be unfair. Sano had been practicing restraint for a long while. Sano had been patient and patience went against Sano's nature. What made it worse was that Sano was right.

The forest was full of dark shadows now, of twisted roots and undergrowth and unknown things living within it. Foolish to wonder so far because he'd been too cowardly to stay and face Sano on the hind end of what he hesitated to call an argument. There had been very little of argument about it. He picked his way back to the stream and took his time heading back to towards the village. Sano was gone from the black smith's wagon when he found his way back and that was just as well. There _would be_ an argument tonight otherwise, with Sano in a temper and Kenshin feeling prickly and in the wrong on so many accounts.

Kenshin folded his blanket and sat against the wagon wheel, not comfortable enough even in this seemingly peaceful place, to sleep outright. Half his life he'd taken his rests this way, half dozing, always aware of the sounds around him, even in the clutch of light sleep. As much call for it now as during the uneasy years alone on the road after the Meiji restoration, since Sano slept like the dead. Nights like those, he missed the sword.

Sano had likely returned to the baker's house, for some while later, both he and Ayog returned, neither one of them particularly quiet in the darkness. Kenshin didn't raise his head, simply slouched there, listening to them fumble in the shadows, the old man climbing to the back of his wagon and his berth there, and Sano flinging out his bedroll and falling into it, back turned strategically towards Kenshin.

Holding a grudge then, for something he'd started. That was fine, too.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

There was boiled rice for breakfast and not a word said of last night's conflict. Sano looked at him, straight in the eye, while the old man shuffled off to see to his mules, daring him maybe, to make issue of it. Hoping for it even, Sano tending to seek out conflict, when Kenshin went out of his way to avoid it.

Kenshin put on his placid face, mostly because he did not wish to start an argument that they could not in all decency carry out once the old man came back, but partly because he knew it would annoy Sano. He was not above small digs.

Sano hadn't the time to pursue it though, the day beginning much as the last one had, with people coming early with jobs and requests and the old man demanding Sano's assistance with the forge.

Kenshin spent the morning, while they were busy with it, taking both their packs to the stream and thoroughly washing bedding and clothing. He got looks from village women who were there about similar tasks, and quiet speculation as they spoke with lowered heads, but he was used to that, a foreigner among them. An Indian stopping in a rural village in Japan would be as much a curiosity.

He sat while the laundry was laid out over rocks to dry in the sun, mending the strap of a sandal. Children that had come with the women to the stream, and were not so shy about direct inquiry as their mothers, drifted close, asking where he'd come from, and then when he told them, bombarding him with questions. He had a fondness for children and their honest enthusiasm and the smiles he wore for them were never manufactured. A few of the women even came closer, using the proximity of their offspring as an excuse to ask questions of their own.

The women here seemed no less fascinated by the notion of marriage than women at home, or women in general he guessed, for inevitably they inquired as to his state of it. _Do you have a wife? No? A woman would be lucky to have a man who does not shirk at doing laundry_. _Are Japanese women as beautiful as Indians?_

The bluntness of their questions as they warmed to the topic was less endearing than that of the children. He smiled politely, letting them answer the majority of their own questions, as a group of women past their initial shyness tended to do.

When they began to speculate about the fairness of the babies made between a Japanese and Indian pairing, he gathered up his damp laundry and made excuses, inclining his head at them as he made a retreat back to the village. Enduring the occasional scowl of Sano's was preferable to becoming the focus of a matchmaking scheme.

He was hailed on the walk back by a man he recognized as the constable to whom he'd reported the location of the captured bandits. The man seemed fresh from the road, mud spattered boots and rumpled jacket.

"Did you find them?" Kenshin inquired.

"We did. Dead, the lot of them. Throats slit and still manacled to the tree. I'll need to speak to the smith and the both of you that were with him. I've sent one of my men from the scene to fetch authorities from Twadi."

Kenshin nodded, stomach churning with unease. If they'd done it themselves, then he'd underestimated the depth of their desperation at the thought of capture. If their comrades had slit their throats rather than let them be taken - - then they were a cold, cruel bunch. Regardless, it was not the outcome he had imagined.

Ayog and Sano took a break from their work when the constable called for them. Kenshin laid his burden down and sat on the back step of the wagon while the constable spoke with Ayog, asking for specific details about the night of the attack. Then he spoke with Sano and asked the same questions. Then Kenshin.

"Do you think he thinks we did it?" Sano asked Kenshin when the constable had returned to talk with Ayog one last time.

"I would think any reasonable man wouldn't point out the scene of his crime and send the law to investigate it."

Sano snorted softly. "I'd think, too. But I've known some damned obstinate assholes that work for the law."

Kenshin had as well, but at least the man hadn't accused them outright.

When the constable left, marking notes on his pad, Ayog ambled over, scowling. "He wants us to stay in town until authorities he's summoned from the south get here."

"What authorities? More police?" Sano asked, rubbing a dirty hand across the back of his neck.

"The Raj army has a regiment patrolling for bandits in the region. He's sent for them." The old man spat on the ground.

Sano cast Kenshin a look.

"Ahh - that might not work out so well for us," Sano admitted.

Ayog raised a thick brow and Sano shrugged, admitting more than Kenshin might have liked to a man that might, under duress repeat it to insistent British officials.

"We had a little run in with the army a few weeks back. Didn't start it, or break the law - - but the officer in charge'll probably be holding a grudge."

"Don't have much love for them myself," Ayog admitted. "British taxing my grandfather out of his home and shop back when the Company ruled, is why my father took up traveling with a forge. Harder to pin a man down and take all his profits when he never stays in a place long enough to find him."

"As good a reason for traveling as I ever heard," Sano agreed. "But I'm thinking me and Kenshin might take to the road again this afternoon."

Kenshin nodded with he glanced at him for affirmation.

The old man scrubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw, looking back at the forge. "I know a thing or two about leaving a place in a hurry with trouble on your heels. Wait until nightfall, when there won't be so much notice of a pair of old mules hauling a wagon out of town."

"You don't have to leave with us," Kenshin said. "Perhaps it would be easier for you even, if you did not. You could simply claim ignorance of us - -"

"No. The villagers I visit on my circuit each year are decent people, with a care for my work. The Raj authorities have little love for the Gadulia Lohar."

Sano canted his head inquiringly, and the old man grinned. "It is what I am. A nomad. A roaming smith, though I've never traveled with a caravan. We who forged the armor of Hindu kings in times ancient. We're vagrants as far as the British are concerned, avoiding their rule and their taxes, if we can. I'd as well avoid speaking with Raj officials who'll come to me already suspecting me of ill-deeds, thank you."

Sano shrugged. "Well, you make a mean campfire supper, so I'm game for your company on the trail."

hr

The 49th Royal Light Infantry had rousted a lot of insurgents in a village east of Twadi. A gathering of locals that had been inciting rebellious thoughts in the minds of their neighbors, complaining against the just rule of the British who sought to tame this wild land and its superstitious, ignorant people. If they'd offered resistance, Captain Worthington would have been more than willing to make examples of them to deter further rebellious talk - - but they'd surrendered quietly and the best he could do was put the leaders in custody and send them to Alheribad and the Royal justices there on charges of sedition.

They'd ridden out of the little town with the villagers properly subdued and respectful in their wake and Worthington supposed he'd accomplished something for his trouble. When the runner from Dhannagiri reached them on the road, they were two days out from the town. He put his men to double pace to cover the distance, and reached the spot where the deputies from Dhannagiri were waiting, standing guard over tarp covered bodies already bloated and beginning decomposition in the Indian heat.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste when they uncovered the corpses to show him and his young British aide gagged and stumbled back, not having the stomach at all for the sight or the smell.

"Burn them," he directed and turned his attention to the locals, who were waiting expectantly for his order.

"These were bandits you say, and not victims?"

They nodded and one of them held out a small stone pocket charm. "They had nothing on them but this. A charm of Kali the Deathbringer."

Worthington turned the little charm in his fingers. The Hindu goddess had many incantations, but chief among them was the bringer of death and destruction. The followers of Kali in this incantation were the worst of the thorns in the side of British order.

"And they were apprehended you say, and detained here?"

The local indicated a pile of rusty chains and manacles. "They attacked a Gadulia Lohar and two travelers and were rebuffed."

"Three men took this lot and possibly more?"

"So they said. They reported the crime and sent us here when they reached Dhannagiri. The smith is well known to us, but the travelers were strangers. Orientals."

Worthington turned a sharp eye to the man, his attention keenly snared.

"Orientals, you say?"

"Yes sir. I saw them myself when they entered town."

"One as tall as me, the other shorter with hair to the small of his back?"

"Yes. Yes. It is them."

He had suspected those two of having some connection with nefarious goings on and now his suspicions were confirmed. He rather suspected them more of being murderers than victims. Perhaps in cahoots with the local troublemakers and the grisly scene here was the result of some falling out.

"And they are still in Dhannagiri?"

The local shrugged. "I do not know. I have not been back."

"See to the disposal of these vermin, then." Worthington snapped, eager to be on his way. He waved a hand, stalking to his horse, and his subordinates roused the regiment and got them moving again.

It was a convenient way to avoid a discussion, having to pick up and high tail out of a place with possible trouble from the law on your heels. But Kenshin was good at avoiding talking about things he didn't want to talk about. Damned annoying when Sano had gotten to the point that he _wanted _to discuss actual feelings - - not a place he generally found himself. It was easier to get physical and force an issue - - but that hadn't worked out right either. Frustrated as Kenshin made him, he really didn't want to get into a fight - - at least not a knock down drag out one. Least not yet. Maybe in a few months if his levels of frustration continued to rise.

It wasn't even that he didn't understand where Kenshin's head was at. Kenshin shouldered the burden of everything and the failure to save his family - - the guilt over what he and Sano had been up to even before they'd died - - it was enough to crush a man with a conscience and an overdeveloped sense of honor.

But it had been close to two years and it was damn well time that the dead stayed dead and the living went on with their lives.

He cast a glance at Kenshin, a dark figure walking on the other side of the mules down the narrow track Ayog was leading them. Not a common road leading to other respectable villages, but a back way, less traveled and not on Ayog's yearly route. If the army cared enough to come after them, hopefully the villagers who were familiar with the old smith would direct them along the road he usually followed.

This way led to less populated areas, the road rutted and narrow and poorly maintained and likely to bog the wagon down if they got much rain. The forest was close around them, and Sano and Kenshin walked the route ahead, machetes in hand, hacking away at roots or undergrowth that had spilled over onto the road.

Kenshin stopped once, staring intently into the forest on his side of the trail, tensed and still. It took Sano a few seconds to hear what he'd heard, the low growl of something large in the foliage. He caught a flash of spotted hide as a big cat bounded away, fleeing human encroachment of its territory.

The mules flicked their ears, tossing their heads nervously and the old man sweet talked them, urging them along with a flick of the reins.

That was night travel in the thick of the wilderness. A slow treacherous process when there was a wagon and a pair of surly mules to consider. They had to stop, an hour or so before dawn, not daring to cross the width of a wide stream bed in the darkness and risk the wagon and the forge. So they stopped on the wide, rocky bank and set up watches, turn and turn about, not trusting the jungle or possible human threat on their heels.

Come morning it was cold rice from the day before, and Sano and Kenshin up to their thighs in water trying to map out the best path for the wagon to cross. They ended up unhitching the forge and taking the wagon across without it, then bringing it across separately. The trail on the other side of the stream was not much better, miles of tangled undergrowth and uneven terrain. But by afternoon, after they'd given the mules a rest and eaten a little of the salt cured fish they'd gotten in trade from the villagers in Dhannagiri, the path began to widen and show signs of more frequent use.

By evening, they passed a cleared area where a modest field of cotton flourished and not much further a, open fronted shack off the side of the road, half obscured by climbing vines, where a handcart and empty bushels crates were haphazardly stacked.

It was as good a place to stop as any, Ayog being unfamiliar enough with this road and what lay ahead to judge if any village or settlement were close enough to make before nightfall. It was a dark night, threatening rains, so they chanced a small fire to boil water and fry bread. The old man spoke of days when he and his father had traveled with roaming nomads, four families and eight wagons, plying their various trades in small villages and towns, avoiding the larger towns and the scrutiny of the British rule. Before the British and their thirst for control, nomadic groups had not been so distrusted, but the Raj government - - the Indian people's name for the British - - had branded them vagrants and criminals generations ago, sowing prejudices that seeped through the vast country.

Kenshin who had spoken not at all during the meal, offered first watch, and blended into the forest to find a vantage that even Sano couldn't pinpoint. He'd taken the machete with him. Nervous then, about the things that dwelled the deep woods.

It did rain during the night, but not a deluge and the trail was only marginally muddy next morning when they set out. The forest thinned, hacked back by human hands, to clear small plots off the side of the road where small crops grew. Melons and squash, corn and tomatoes.

A boy, dozing in the shade of a tree roused at their approach and ran, yelling, ahead of them down the road.

It was not much further, barely around a bend in the track that they came to the outskirts of a tiny village. Warned by the boy, men and children gathered to stare ominously at them as the wagon rattled its way into town.

A dirt poor town if Sano were any judge. The people were weathered and hostile looking, no few men holding hatchets and clubs, as if they were expecting some attack instead of weary travelers passing their way. The women hung back, in the doorways and shadows of thatch huts. A mongrel dog barked, skirting as close as it dared to the wagon wheels.

"There's nothing here. No place to rest, no food to spare," A man said, belligerent, gripping an ax in a raw boned hand.

"Don't need food." Ayog leaned elbows on knees over the wagon perch. "Just a Gadulia Lohar passing through. If there's work that needs the hand of a smith, I'm open to trade."

"No work here," the same man said.

There were maybe forty people that Sano could see, and a half that many buildings. Even the children looked hostile, glaring around their mother's hips.

"Fair enough," Ayog said and slapped the reins, urging the mules into motion.

"I've work," an old man hobbled out from the gathering. "I've an axel needs mending."

"I've a pot with a crack in the bottom," a woman ventured. "It's a good pot."

"I can fix that," Ayog said and the dam broke, people crowding close, moving around the men who still clutched their makeshift weapons and glared, children getting under the mules legs, and trying to climb the side of the wagon and pulling at Sano's vest begging handouts.

He kept a hand to his purse in his pocket, more than one small hand venturing that way. A group of little cutpurses in the making and not a parent in the lot that seemed to care.

The village was called Gheta and the people here did what they could to survive. They farmed and they hunted, and once a year they took salves and medicinal powders that they gathered from forest roots and plants, to the markets at Chadaragore to sell. Twice a year, the British landowner that managed this vast region of forest for the crown swept through with armed militia and demanded taxes that more often than not, they had no ability to pay. No few young men had been conscripted into service of the Raj as payment.

They knew what British faces looked like, pale skinned and round eyed, but they had never seen a Japanese, or even a Chinese, as remote as they were. Sano and Kenshin found themselves the center of much wary and often hostile fascination.

"I'm not sure I want to sleep here, tonight," Sano said to Kenshin, after a second man had spat on the ground at his feet, barely missing his sandal. Kenshin had had to catch his arm and prevent him from knocking the guy on his ass.

"They're wary of strangers, foreign or not," Kenshin said, trying to placate him. "It's doubtful many travel this way, except for those that demand something of them."

"Yeah, well, just watch your back and your pockets. These kids are a bunch of little thieves."

Kenshin gave him a half smile, the one that Sano had learned to interpret as being just a little condescending, Kenshin no doubt convinced that no fleet fingered thief could get past his notice. That, or he thought Sano was being paranoid.

But at least he'd seemed to be over avoiding Sano, apparently having decided to put the incident in Dhannagiri behind him.

hr

It took the afternoon to get the axel off the old villager's wagon and repaired. Ayog took on a few odd jobs then. The woman's pot, a bit of small repair work that he was paid for in dried mushrooms and medicinal herbs and salves that the village women made their living off of. He didn't ask much of them, knowing they had little to spare and their animosity ebbed. At least towards the old smith, who told his own tales of woe about crippling taxes and greedy landlords. They still looked at Sano and Kenshin as if they were scouts for some invading foreign horde. They spoke of shaking the yoke of Mogul rule hundreds of years past like it was yesterday. Long memories, these folks.

Kenshin had known no few people in his own land with equally intolerant views.

Ayog closed down the forge long before dark, the work dried up, and he stood around the dying embers smoking cheap, hand rolled cigarettes with one of the village elders. Sano had taken off down the dirt road a little, cooling off after one too many sideways comments tossed his way from the less tolerant of the village men and that was just as well, if they didn't want to be chased out of town and forced onto a dark road.

Kenshin had more patience with surly strangers and ignored the glares and the distrustful looks. He went to the village well and refilled the water jugs that hung from the sides of Ayog's wagon. A group of children watched him, dirty, clothing, dirty faces. Nothing unusual for children, but these were lean, hungry looking kids, wary and suspicious. He'd seen them throughout the day, young enough not to have tasks to keep them out of mischief, curious enough to be keenly interested in what strangers were about, and very much swayed by the talk of their elders.

They were building themselves to something, whispering and shifting among themselves. Kenshin ignored them, carefully pouring water into the ceramic jug.

A rock was flung at his back, and he didn't quite turn, simply snatched it out of the air before it reached his head. He did turn then, and met five sets of startled, wide eyes. The one who'd thrown it stood in the forefront, mouth open in surprise while the others as one, scattered like rabbits.

The boy stood his ground as Kenshin approached and held out the rock. "Is this yours?"

The boy swallowed, staring at it, then back up at him. Then set his small jaw and demanded. "How did you catch that? You weren't even looking."

Kenshin shrugged. "I've had a thing or two thrown at me before."

The boy gave him a dubious look. "I get rocks thrown at me all the time and I can't catch them even when I know they're coming."

"That's too bad. Perhaps you ought to find another game to play that doesn't hurt so much."

The boy shrugged skinny shoulders. He couldn't have been more than six or seven - - only a few years older than Kenji would have been now. But, he reminded Kenshin more of Yahiko, when he'd first encountered him. Dirty faced and intelligent and fallen on bad times. A kid that needed a chance to make something of himself and might never get it.

"They say you're Chinese, is that true?"

"No," Kenshin went back to continue filling the jugs and the boy followed. "I'm from Japan."

"I've never heard of that," the boy admitted. "Is it like China?"

"Well, it's a very large island that lies off the coast of China."

"Oh." The boy looked dubious. Then, "What's an island?"

Kenshin smiled, hefting filled jugs and heading back to the edge of town where the wagon was parked. The boy trailed him, the questions overflowing, now that he'd found an adult willing to take the time to answer.

He walked back into the village a little, Sano not back yet, and sat on a crumbling stone wall while the boy, whose name was Jai talked.

His father had died before he was born, but his mother had remarried and their family had a plot all their own that they farmed. Jai helped now, during harvest and planting. He had never left this village. His mother hadn't and her mother.

"But one day soon, Aakash will take me with him and I'll leave here and see all the world," the boy claimed.

"Who is Aakash?"

"My brother."

"Ah. And where does he live?"

Jai swelled a little with pride. "He is a great warrior who fights against the evil Raj."

"Really? A great warrior. That sounds as if it might be a perilous life for a young boy."

"I'll be a man soon," the boy puffed out his skinny chest. "If I could catch rocks like you, I could impress my brother when he comes."

"It takes a great deal of practice."

"I could do it."

"No doubt." The unshakable confidence of this child reminded him suddenly of Kenji. Stubborn set to his little jaw as his mother cautioned that even though the older children could hop across the stone pathway of the garden pond, he might not be able to accomplish the feat himself. And Kenji so sure that he could - -making it two stones across before he couldn't make the next step and toppled in. Kenshin had had to wade in to get him, a soaking wet child disturbing the peace of the koi, his mother smothering a smile so as not to offend wounded pride when they got back.

It hurt, that memory, a strain inside his chest. The happiest memories seemed to strike the deepest. But this time there was a child staring at him with unshakable confidence, so he took a breath and the smile wasn't forced.

"Jai!" The boy started, looking up as his name was called and a woman appeared at the door of a nearby hut. She marched out, giving Kenshin a wary look, as she gathered her child.

Kenshin inclined his head respectfully and she frowned, casting glances over her shoulder at him as she marched Jai home. A very reasonable concern from a mother who found her child in the company of a stranger.

Not a bad people, he thought, simply a very poor village made poorer by the greed of the landowners who'd been granted privileges over lands these people had inhabited for time untold. But there was always one hand or another demanding things of the helpless and not just here.

For the first time in a long time, he recalled his childhood, usually nothing more than a foggy memory, and his own poor village, taxed into poverty by the shogun they owed allegiance to on the one side and beset constantly by brigands and bandits on the other. It had been a bad time, with the stirrings of the revolution making the Shogunate greedy for the wealth to maintain their armies. As always, here, there, then and now, it was the poor that suffered the most. The poor upon whose backs the wealthy danced their dance of power.

Sano was back when he returned to the camp they'd made alongside Ayog's wagon. They'd taken the dying coals from the forge and built a fire in a metal crock, over which the smith was boiling rice with bits of the mushroom he'd gotten in payment today. Sano tossed Kenshin a piece of fruit, guava, that he'd already cut in half. It was sticky on his hands and sweet when he sucked the juices off his fingers. Sano must have found it along his cooling off walk.

"You make a new friend, huh?" Sano asked, his back against a wagon wheel. Still shirtless, but he'd washed up somewhere along the way.

Kenshin sat down cross legged next to him, shrugging.

Sano sucked the last strip of fruit from around the pit and tossed it into the darkness at the outskirts of the firelight. He drew up a knee and jerked his chin towards the old smith, tending the fire.

"The old man's shoulder is better," he said in an undertone. "But he hinted that he wouldn't mind the company, if we had a mind to travel the same trail. He's headed east, towards Calcutta eventually."

"Is that what you want?" Kenshin asked softly.

"It's food in our bellies and I'm okay with the company, if you are. It's four - - six months travel at the rate he goes, to the coast anyway. Not like we'd be stuck with him if we changed our minds."

"I think he's looking for an apprentice," Kenshin said.

Sano lifted a brow. "Yeah? Well, I can tell you, after a few days of working a forge, I wouldn't want a lifetime of it."

"It wouldn't be a bad craft to practice."

Sano snorted. Then again, softer, glancing at the old man. "Never hurts to learn a new skill or two, though."

hr

Kenshin half drowsed, not so secure between the edge of this little village and the forest beyond, to sleep soundly when Sano and the old man snored, dead to the world.

He roused to voices raised, then lowered in apparent conflict, not too far distant. The village was cast in darkness barely penetrated by a sliver of a moon and the voices were close enough that he worried, silently rising and slipping away from the wagon and his sleeping comrades to assess threat, if there were any.

In the gully beyond a hut, two houses down, two men argued in the darkness. One he thought, was the belligerent man from the crowd yesterday. The other's back was to him and he could not see, but he seemed young and sloop shouldered. But neither held weapons, only bare hands and angry words.

"I told you that you are not welcome in my house," the man hissed. "Go back to the vagrants you call friends and seek their charity."

"It's not your house," the boy cried. "It is the house of my father. Who are you to tell me I have no place in it?"

"The man who married your mother and kept her from the street," the man snapped and swung a hand, hitting the boy with the back of his fist.

When the boy turned, clutching his cheek, Kenshin saw his face and recognition sparked. He knew this boy from the road. Had shared a fire with this boy before he and his brethren had attacked and then fled. A young thief that had likely come back with his comrades and slit the throats of their fellow bandits when they could not easily free them.

"Don't come back here to plague your mother and put ill-notions in your brother's head," the man cried.

The boy sobbed, backing away, then stabbing a finger and vowing. "You'll be sorry. You'll all be sorry."

Then he broke, scampering into the forest beyond the huts, disappearing into the darkness.

The man stood there, fists clenched staring after for a moment, then turned and headed back towards the huts. Kenshin stared into the forest as well, uneasily. If the boy was here, then his brethren might not be far behind. If this village was spared their attentions, perhaps it was only due to his association with it. An association likely strained now. He might have recognized the smith's wagon and the forge, if he'd even seen them. He might not have, if he'd crept into town the way he'd left. Either way, Kenshin had no intention of sleeping the remainder of the night.

hr

Almost, Worthington lost the trail he sought to follow, the regiment poised on the brink of a crossroads, before his sepoy guide, a man who had proved as invaluable as any Englishman in the field over the years, spotted the tracks of a wagon with a heavy cart hauled behind it heading down another, less traveled path.

They had a day on him, but they were traveling at a snails march compared to the pace he pushed his men to. They complained of it, but not loudly and not within his hearing. He cared little enough, pride being at stake and a debt to be settled.

He was mounted, as was his native sergeant at arms and his young English aide, Corporal Culpepper. One or the other of them rode ahead, constantly appraising the state of the trail. A narrow, ungainly forest path that would have slowed the pace of a wagon considerably. Worthington's spirits rose, certain that within a day he could close the distance between himself and his prey.

They set up camp along the trail with darkness, twenty infantrymen and their officers making order with practiced ease. They traveled light, with no supply wagon to carry the makings for more than the most rustic of camps, but Worthington was used to the hardships of the campaign.

The alarm came from the sentry not long after dawn. A cry cut short, but clear enough to rouse sensitive sleepers. They came out of the woods in a rush, attackers drawn no doubt by the dying fires and the sounds of a slumbering camp. A damned foolish lot that should have taken a little more care scouting out their victims, or they might have hesitated to attack so well an armed group. Or perhaps they were driven by some religious ferver, for the most of them were wildly bearded and wore the turban, and came out of the darkness screaming curses in Hindu against the British and cries to the Goddess Kali.

Men scrambled out of their beds, taken by some surprise, Worthington among them. Guns were at each man's side, but in such close quarters blades were easier to draw in defense.

The confusion was so intense at first, and Worthington so pressed to defend himself, bootless and in shirt and trousers only, that he imagined this might be some revolt that his own native troops were in liege with. He had nightmares of the treasonous mutiny that had killed his father and never quite was able to put his full trust in the natives under his own command. But one of his sepoy infantryman put himself between Worthington and the blade of an attacker, and took the point himself, howling as the blade entered his gut. Worthington drew his pistol and put a bullet between the eyes of the leathery faced, wild eyed attacker. And the sound of that first shot was like a clap of thunder on the dawn stained trail.

He turned and shot another, and his sergeant at arms, who also had a side arm, took aim and accounted for another. By that time, the troop had gathered its wits and the wild battle cries of their attackers turned to screams of fear as more gunfire erupted.

Bandits tried to flee and Worthington cried for his men to shoot them down before they could gain the full cover of the wood. And they did, dead shots all of them, felling a half dozen men in short order. Then there was only the moaning of the wounded, and the labored breath of men roused to quickly and to violence from their beds.

Worthington among them, breath harsh from anger and exertion. He took account, crouching by the man who had put himself in front of him and taken the blade aimed at his gut. His regiment medic scurried over and shook his head grimly upon seeing the profusely bleeding wound. A death wound, even if they'd had access to medical facilities. And this man was not their only casualty. The sentry had been killed in the woods, throat neatly sliced, and one more of theirs, stabbed from behind.

Worthington rose, fists clenched, a cold rage knotting in his gut as he surveyed his camp and the bodies littered about it. That they had dared to attack a regiment of the Royal army was untenable. This was most certainly a portent of worse things. The beginning of another rebellion where the English rule was tested and it was beginning in territory he had been given authority over. He had to nip it in the bud.

There were the bodies of eleven dead attackers, and two alive. He put a bullet in the head of one himself, and the act barely served to salve the cold indignity he felt. The second was barely more than a beardless boy, and he hesitated, motioning his men to draw the shuddering lad up to face him. There was fear on the boy's face, but it was mixed with hatred.

"Is this all there is to your band? Who leads you? Where do you camp?"

The boy spat at him, blood mixed with saliva. Worthingtong stared at it, marring the crisp white of his shirt. He laid the muzzle of his gun to the lad's forehead and the boy quaked, trying to shrink back against the arms that restrained him.

"You will tell me what I want to know."

And the boy broke, eyes darting down to the man just shot, with the slowly seeping hole between his sightless eyes.

"Gheta," the boy cried. "They harbor us in Gheta. They hate the Raj rule, all of them, and curse you daily. The worst among them is my step father, a man called Gyan, who has killed many English travelers and wears English teeth as trophies."

His own smooth-faced English aid gasped upon hearing this tale and looked to him with wide, worried eyes. "Should we send back for reinforcements, sir, if we've found their nest?"

Worthington hated the notion of begging General Fletcher for aid. He hated worse, the chance that the insurgents might get wind of their approach and flee, leading them a merry chase in this wild, heavily forested region. Some of the bandits might very well have escaped into the forest. His only chance of eradicating the threat to English life and English sovereignty was to make haste and strike quickly and without mercy.

He barked at his regiment to break camp. He'd push them to their limits to reach Gheta before any bandit stragglers who would spread the alarm. Then he turned and put a bullet in the head of the boy bandit, just rewards and well within the rights of an officer of her majesty's army when dealing with an insurgent who threatened her rule.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Ayog found reason to linger in the village. An old woman who desired to look through his trunk of kitchen utensils, searching out the perfect tools in exchange for packets of powdered roots and spices that she gathered and ground herself from the forests.

Then there was breakfast to be had, which Sano was reluctant to go without, so they had flatbread from the night before and fruit from the bounty the forest offered. They sat thereafter, on a low stone wall, while Ayog conducted the last of his business, Sano sucking the last of the flesh from the pit of his fruit, Kenshin turning his in his fingers while he watched the village children taunt a mangy dog with a stick endlessly thrown.

The boy, Jai, ventured closer, giving Sano a wary look, which Sano returned. Kenshin smiled in welcome.

"Good morning, Jai." He canted his head curiously at the set of small red marks on the boy's bare torso. "Or not so good a morning. You look as if you were caught in a hail of pebbles."

Jai frowned, rubbing at one such mark. "I practiced this morning. Daaruk and Bhola were happy to toss rocks at me - - but I was not so good at catching them."

"Ah." Kenshin cast a warning glance at Sano, who snorted in laughter. "There are better ways to develop fast reflexes than having rocks thrown at you."

"What ways?"

Kenshin considered. In matter of fact, Hiko _had_ tossed no few painful objects at him, during the early days of his training, a strong believer that pain and the avoidance thereof led to faster learning. It wasn't a method of teaching that Kenshin favored.

"Jai," the boy's mother, a ceramic urn on her hip, paused in her trip towards the well. "Don't pester the strangers."

The boy frowned and Kenshin cast her an innocent smile. "No pestering. Jai is a very inquisitive boy."

She paused, giving both he and Sano a look, uncertain and said almost defensively. "He is a good boy. He'll make a fine farmer like his father."

"I won't be," Jai shot back. "I'll be a great warrior like Aakash."

She smacked him lightly upside the head, telling him to shush. "Foolish boy. Aakash is no warrior. Now there are chores you've yet to do. Find them."

The boy scowled, but scurried off, regardless. The mother hesitated, distraught, and said one more time. "Jai is a good boy."

Kenshin thought she knew very well what her elder son had become and dreaded the notion that her younger one dreamed of following in his footsteps. There were few words a man might offer, who had no intentions of staying past the afternoon. It was doubtful she would appreciate words of advice from strangers regardless.

He inclined his head, and she walked away, casting a look over her shoulder.

"It's her son that's the bandit?" Sano asked.

Kenshin nodded. "I believe so."

"Sucks." Sano tossed the pit. "About the little one and all."

Kenshin silently agreed.

"I can understand though. When you're a kid," Sano said. "Almost anything sounds better than being a farmer."

"I don't recall having an opinion, one way or another. I just - - was." He frowned, trying to remember what dreams if any he had had, when he'd been that young and destined for the life of a peasant farmer, and failing. Certainly the notion of becoming a swordsman of some repute had never entered his mind.

Sano snorted, pushing himself off the wall, and jerking his head towards Ayog's wagon. "Looks like he's finished his business."

"Hn." Kenshin slipped off the wall himself, gaze wondering to the boy, who had abandoned the idea of chores and was playing with the dog and the other children.

They helped the old smith hitch up the forge to the wagon. There was little fanfare as they began the slow trip out of town. Just sullen looks from the men, and the stares of the women and children, paused in their activity to watch the mules plod down the street through the row of huts.

Kenshin and Sano walked, free of the weight of packs, which were secure in the wagon. It was a nice day, not too hot yet, the sky clear of the darker clouds that might bring rain. A good day for traveling.

There was a cry from the village. Another that sounded of anger, and Kenshin turned, as Sano did, the wagon not quite cleared the last of the village huts, and saw men on the road leading in. A great many men in the sand colored uniforms and cloth wrapped peaked helmets of Royal army infantry.

Sano cursed, grabbing Kenshin's arm and hauling him into the shadows between the last two huts. "Son of a bitch. I can't believe the bastard chased us all the way here."

Kenshin peered around the edge of the hut as the regiment of infantry spilled into the village, to the outraged cries of the villagers. Outrage that was doubled as one protesting villager was shoved off his feet.

"We don't want you here," A man cried.

"Your Raj Governor has already stolen this years taxes from us. We have nothing more to give." Another shook the fist holding the staff of a hoe.

Guns came up from no few of the native infantry that had formed a line across the single village street. An officer on a horse, reined close, scattering several of the village men. Kenshin recognized him as the one from the previous town. Sano must have as well, because he cursed again, under his breath.

"Stop that wagon," the officer cried, and Sano and Kenshin drew back further in the shadows as a trio of infantry trotted towards Ayog's wagon, yelling for him to halt.

The old smith already had, and he sat there, not looking towards Sano and Kenshin, not willing to give them away, as the Sepoy infantrymen stomped up, demanding he climb down from his perch. There was little room for argument with their rifles in hand, and the old man grudgingly climbed down. The infantry men yanked open the back door of the van and gave the interior a cursory once over, looking for passengers, and urged Ayog back towards the gathering once they'd assured themselves there were none.

"Where are they?" The officer was demanding of the villagers. "We know this village shelters cutthroats and seditionists. Give them up if you don't wish to suffer their fate. The punishment for supporting insurgents against the crown is no less than the crime of insurgency itself."

There was an uproar, a cry of denial and anger from the gathered towns folk.

"English pig," A man cried. "You lie. There are none here but you, who do not rightfully belong."

One of the Sepoy, a man with a bloodied bandage around his arm, slammed the butt of his rifle against the villager's face, and the villager staggered back, into the arms of his fellows, bleeding from the mouth.

A rock was thrown and if Kenshin were any judge, it did not come from the hand of a man, but rather from a boy hidden at the edge of the crowd. It was a good throw though. It hit the officer dead in the face, breaking the taut skin of his cheek. It was the pivotal point. The harbinger of disaster that might or might not have come regardless, brought on by a boy spurred by the resentment of his elders.

Kenshin didn't see who fired the first shot. Some startled native infantryman faced with an angry crowd of villagers and a commander rocked back in his saddle by a blow from an unknown assailant, who fired into the mass of humanity. A man went down to the shrieks of women and the cries of other men, and all hell broke loose.

Gunfire broke out, an epidemic of it, mixed with the screams of people, the barking of village dogs, the scream of the officer to form up. Village men rushed towards the line of infantry, trying to wrestle guns away, even as the elderly and women and children ran.

Sano swore, bursting from their shelter, heading recklessly into fire towards the old smith, who was still in the custody of two frightened sepoy infantry. Kenshin hissed and followed, the crack of rapid gunfire spurring instances of red tinged memory, of tangled men and swords and gunfire on the battlefields of home, during the last bloody year of the Meiji revolution. He abhorred guns and the careless wreckage they made of lives. It took little enough skill to pull a trigger, and in a crowded street none at all to hit a target, be it one aimed at or a chance encounter. A fleeing woman went down not five feet from him, caught by a stray bullet. He heard the distant voice of the English officer yelling at his men to reload and fire and this not even a proper battlefield.

Sano caught up with the old smith, slamming a fist into the side of one startled sepoy's face, then twisting the gun out of the hands of the other and smacking the barrel against the owner's head. He was screaming something at Ayog, gesturing towards the wagon, when the old man staggered, falling against Sano and Sano screamed outrage. He looked back to Kenshin, who darted to one side, yanking an old woman down as a bullet tore past, then stared into the face of Jai and his mother as the woman dragged the wide-eyed child towards the huts, seeking safety. The boy went down, even as she clutched his hand, his skinny bare chest blossoming with red as the bullet tore through. It spattered Kenshin's sleeve and he crouched as she screamed and gathered the still wide-eyed form of the child, wailing.

For a moment, he couldn't think past the blood staining his sleeve, past the stain on the dirt under the child. A child not much older than Kenji would have been - - a child robbed of everything by the casual squeeze of a trigger. A bullet hit the dirt between them and he rose, sprang towards the woman and dragged her away from the body of her child, thrusting her towards the shelter of a hut. If she didn't have the sense to stay and make use of it, it was beyond him to help her.

He turned, looking for Sano. Wanting Sano away from here - - away from a slaughter that Sano wasn't equipped to deal with. Knowing well enough that Sano hadn't the sense in the heat of rage - - the heat of grief - - to know his own limitations.

And the old man was down, and Sano was roaring in fury, stalking through the exodus of women and frightened men towards the line of riflemen.

The English officer saw him, hard not to miss him, taller than the rest, with nothing but purpose in his stride, and raised his own firearm.

Kenshin darted after him, too far away to make a difference, even if he'd had a way of making it, unarmed as he was. The pistol fired and Sano twisted, not in avoidance, Sano's speed wasn't that refined, but from impact. The bullet spun him half around and then again, and he staggered, falling backwards over the body of a villager, not moving thereafter, blood on his chest, blood on his face.

The bullets might as well have hit him, for the overwhelming pain in his chest, the utter wrenching slap of horror as Sano went down and with him everything left to Kenshin that made a difference. That last scrap that held the pieces of him together stripped away. Stolen by the intent of another. Just like Kaoru and Kenji.

Everything slowed. Noise a muffled murmur in the background, movement sluggish like sap making its way down the bark of a tree. Kenshin saw blood and screaming faces, flashes of bamboo and glints of swords that might have been real but probably weren't. Something hit his arm, but he didn't feel pain. Didn't feel anything but a seeping wave of cold wrath. He zeroed in on the man on the horse. Grim set mouth, white skin and drooping mustache. Eyes as cold as Kenshin's intent. The man saw him and raised his side arm again, and Kenshin moved.

Back towards the wagon, bullets pinging off the iron of the forge as he reached it, springing in through the back door that the sepoy had left ajar after their search. He didn't bother looking for the key, just slammed his foot against the lock in the big chest at the back and smashed the metal from the wood. And there it lay, atop the pile where the old man had left it, aged sheath and dry rotted hilt that fit his hand like it had been made for him and him alone.

He was out of the van before the first bullets began hitting the wood of it, diving through the door and rolling behind the forge for cover. Focus expanded, senses swelling to battle sharpness, aware of everything. Every flicker of movement, every whisper of sound, the stir of the air as a bullet whizzed by. The crunch of a boot in dirt as a sepoy rounded the corner of the forge, rifle at ready.

And he cut him down before the man could take that second step. Sliced him neatly across the throat and kept moving, taking out the one behind him with the return arc of the blade before the first man had realized he was dead. Didn't pause to hear the bodies fall, darting between huts to circle the back way, past the dwindling stragglers who'd survived the initial wild shooting spree, across someone's carefully tended garden plot, and over the stone wall protecting it. Bullets came at him, and he might even have been hit, but pain and injury were foreign things, and he was in their midst before they could fully register him, cutting a swath through the regiment like a death wrath the likes of which they'd never seen. A dervish of glinting blade that once among them, rifles could not combat. That their clumsy belt knives, pulled from sheaths had no skill to counter. No more mercy than they had. No more than they deserved, men who fired with intent into a crowd of unarmed people. And death came easy to him. It had always come so damned easy - - harder by far not to deal it, than to portion it out like just rewards.

And this sword made it easy. This sword cut through the metal of gun barrels like it was human bone and human bone like it was lard. This sword was the most devastating thing he'd ever held in his hands and he had wielded no few fine blades. All he saw was the enemy, and sometimes the faces were Indian and sometimes they blurred to the determined countenances of samurai and he thought this might be Hakodate or Tobe-Fushimi instead of some dirt poor village in India.

Until he deflected a bullet and stared into the shocked face of an Englishman and then he half envisioned Winter with his caustic eyes and his sneering condescension. Winter had raised a gun at him too. Winter had shot Sano. Sano. Sano. The name echoed in the numb recesses of his head.

"You damned - -" the man whispered, pale faced, hand trembling, finger tightening on the trigger.

His head toppled, cut clean through, that expression still fixed on his face and Kenshin stared with cold impartiality at the boy standing behind him. A British boy, in a neat uniform, clutching the flag of his regiment. An open mouthed, terrified boy that could not have been older than Yahiko - - if he were that old.

There was a deficit of gunfire. An eerie wash of quiet. Just him and the boy and the moans of the wounded, the soft weeping of women. He heard his own heartbeat. The steady thud of it behind his ears, the rush of blood throbbing in his temples. Everything still stained red. The sword had a mind of its own, living thing in his hand.

The blossoming stain of wetness at the boy's crotch stalled him. The acrid smell of urine. The stench of terror. And him the cause of it. He glanced to one side, at the sprawl of bodies, red stained uniforms, discarded rifles. No villagers had made it this far in. He looked back to the boy, who had come so very close to dying this day and said softly, "Run."

And the boy did, slipping in his haste, scrambling down the trail the way they had come, the regimental flag fluttering to the ground, falling half upon the body of his commander, the edges of it darkening with his blood. Kenshin stood for a long moment after, sheath still in one hand, the naked blade in the other. The stench of blood and human waste was acrid in the air. Fear and sweat were. Too familiar, the residue of fresh death. He stared with a twinge of bewilderment at the brown, wide-eyed face of a corpse - - not comprehending for a second why it was not the paler skinned, longer eyed visage of a Japanese.

He shook his head, sharply, shuddering, remembering and turned back to the village and the dead. So very many dead. Bodies piled atop one another, mother's lying half atop children, their meager flesh not enough of a shield to stop the bullets from tearing through and into the small bodies they protected. Men sprawled in the street, wide eyed in death. The bodies of the regiment, dead from a different sort of wound. Dead by his hand. And he felt nothing. Not even that guilt he'd felt for killing Winter, who'd deserved it more than these.

He didn't comprehend that either. That utter numb when he ought to be aghast at the complete decimation of his vow. But then who was left to condemn him for it? Kaoru long gone. Kenji who'd known nothing of it and Sano - - Sano hadn't really cared one way or another - - understanding death better than Kaoru ever had.

He looked for Sano. He'd been at the edge of the crowd when he'd fallen, not far from the village well. The survivors shied from his path, from the naked, bloody blade he held. People crept from their hiding spots, or crawled, wounded, to the sides of their dead. Screams began, and wails of grief. But not many. There were more dead by far, than living left here and it had not been a large village to begin with.

There. Sprawled upon the body of a fallen villager. Surreal, almost, the blood smearing half his face, matting the dark hair on that side of his head. A bullet hole in his shoulder, through and through, the one that had rocked him, before the second one took him in the head. Kenshin stared down, until his knees gave out and he crumpled, kneeling in dirt damp from blood.

Someone was wailing, over and over 'no. no. no. no.' The rhythm of it throbbed in his head. His vision blurred, and he thought he saw a woman, at the edge of the forest, holding the hand of a child. A woman wearing a kimono, not a sari, staring at him through the veil of misery and grief that hung over the village like smoke. He blinked and she was gone, escaping into the forest, like anyone with any sense would do. Staying here would be a death warrant for them when the boy he'd let live brought the army back to take their revenge. Perhaps he'd stay here and let them try and take it. Perhaps he'd teach them what it meant to taste the vengeance of a hitokiri. Perhaps he'd take their heads one by one, until they did him the favor finally of taking his.

He bowed his head, baring his teeth, clenching his eyes against the warm wetness of tears. A hand gripped his wrist, fingers slick with blood, grip hurtful.

He blinked down at Sano's fingers on his arm, breath stalled. In the midst of the blood, an eye cracked open.

"Sano?" Kenshin whispered, hardly daring to hope.

Breath hissed through Sano's lips and he murmured. "Fuck, fuck - - hurts - - Wha - - happened?"

Tentatively Kenshin reached fingers gone to trembling and badly, towards Sano's temple, brushing aside blood soaked hair. It was hard to see the wound from the red and the wet, but there was a score there, bone deep and he cringed, closing his fist.

"You got shot in the head. Again."

"Again? Must have a hard head, huh?" Sano said, before his eyes fluttered closed.

"Sano, wake up," Kenshin clutched his shoulder, fingers biting down, desperate. "Sano, stay with me - - please - - stay - -" He rocked, mind blanking, nothing but Sano's blood and the warmth of Sano's skin under his hand getting through, until someone pulled him back, an aged voice snapping at him to move aside. An old woman, maybe the one he'd pulled from a bullet's path, bent over Sano, pressing dirty cloth to the seeping wound in his shoulder, doing what Kenshin hadn't the wherewithal to consider and treating wounds. Sano was one of the few left alive that required it. Most the bodies were just that - - bodies, devoid of life.

She looked back at him, rheumy old eyes narrowed with anger. "You should have killed them all. One live will spread the tale and they'll come back with vengeance in their hearts. You should have killed them all."

She made a sign against evil. He didn't understand the meaning, but the look in her eye was clear enough.

"Tend to your own wounds," she said, glancing back at him. And he looked down, saw red staining his clothing. A growing blossom of it at his hip. A patch of it at his ribs. He hardly felt the pain. He pressed fingers to the place above his hip and with pressure, the sting of a bullet wound made itself known. A through and through above his hipbone, through muscle and flesh. If anything more vital was hit, he had yet to feel it. He felt the warmth of blood sliding down his hip, down his leg.

The old woman called for someone, a patter of rapid words that sounded like white noise to Kenshin. He stared at Sano's pale, red smeared face. At the shuddery rise and fall of his chest. His head swam.

The sword was still in his hand, bloody. Blood on the blade, blood on the aged leather of the hilt. It was a disservice to leave it so. He rose, using the scabbard to push himself to his feet, flicked the sword once, twice to shed blood, and slid it into the sheath. His hands shook in the doing. He took a staggering step, having no direction, and a woman cringed away from him, wild eyed, making a sign in the air before her, this time against him. There was a horse wondering aimlessly through the street, reins trailing, carefully treading around the bodies on the ground.

The old smith lay where he had fallen next to Sano. Wide, staring eyes. An old man who'd been innocent save for association with them. An old man that might have taken a different path and been spared this.

There was a boy dead on the street somewhere here abouts - - he found him by the bent figure of a woman rocking over the small body. Not the only dead child. There were always dead children, innocent casualties of war. Or rebellion, of revolution, or of simple greed. Starved or shot or drowned - - so many ways to snuff out an innocent life. And he had been helpless to stop it. To find Kenji before greed and ill-intent and circumstance had stolen him from him.

Grief welled up, black around the edges, as harsh as it had the first time he'd accepted the terrible truth. The leg on the side with the bullet wound gave out under him, and he went down, not fighting the fall. The sky swam above him, clouds swirling dizzyingly. A face appeared above him, but it was blurred, indistinct. They tried to take the sword, but he tightened his grip, refusing to release it. It had stained him, he had stained it. It was his now, indisputably.

They gave up trying to separate him from it, and fingers lifted the hem of his shirt, baring the wound. Perhaps it had ruptured something vital after all, because pain flared and receded, sucking him after in its wake.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The jarring of the wagon woke Sano. He blinked, the dappled light flickering through the canopy of branches and leaves overhead enough to make a throbbing head, all the more perilous. The pain was this thick, pulsing thing that made his skull feel twice its normal size. Thoughts came sluggish and disjointed. He lay on his back on what felt like a cushion of straw, in the bed of a wagon, bouncing down an uneven, forested trail.

Even turning his head hurt, but he managed, finding the warmth at his side a familiar one. Kenshin, still and pale. And at the foot of the wagon, an old woman sat, tending other supine forms. A woman and an old man and a child with dirty, blood stained bandages leaning against the old woman, drowsing.

The simple shifting of his gaze made his stomach churn. The rocking of the wagon did. Nausea rose and with an effort of will he pulled himself up by the edge of the wagon - - no small feat - - and hung across the rail, vomiting. He collapsed afterwards, exhausted, everything throbbing. Kenshin didn't move. The old woman simply stared at him, weary eyed.

It was a blessing when darkness came back and relieved him of the pain.

# # #

He came awake again, still dizzy, still that sick feeling that permeated the whole of him. The light was still yellow and dappled, the forest still thick and green about them. An hour might have passed or a day. The parchment feeling in the back of his throat suggested more than an hour. He was dimly aware of Kenshin, sitting next to him now. Another figure, smallish and stooped, crawled next to him in the wagon bed, and lifted his head, pressing the mouth of cup to his lips. The water was warm and tasted of blood. Or perhaps it was just him.

Kenshin said nothing. Made no move, and when Sano finally risked moving his head to look, he sat with drawn knees and head down, the whole of his face hidden by hair half out of the tail at the back of his neck, one hand, stained with dried blood resting on the sheath of the sword that leaned between his knees.

Sano didn't know what to make of that. His head spun from contemplating it. He shut his eyes hard, trying to will away the pain and the dizziness. Lifted his hand gingerly and touched the bandages wrapping his head. Even through the padding he felt the throb of injury. It was exhausting, even that small movement.

"What happened?" he asked and his voice creaked like old leather, as if he hadn't spoken for ages.

Kenshin didn't answer. The old woman who'd given him water, brown skinned and weathered, looked at him from where she sat with her other injured.

"We flee and hope they won't find us."

He didn't understand. He half recalled images of violence, flashes of terror on the faces of villagers. The memory of gunfire made his head throb the more.

"Ayog?"

The old woman looked at him, questioningly.

"The old smith we came to town with?"

She shook her head and he shut his eyes, regretting that old man.

"And the village - -? The army - -?"

The old woman looked past him to Kenshin. She made a sign of some sort, her eyes wary. "Dead. All but the one that will bring the Raj down upon us. He's doomed us all, with that one mercy."

She spat over the side of the wagon and the injured folk who were conscious enough to pay heed to the conversation, made signs of their own, edged as far away from he and Kenshin as they could in the small wagon bed.

It was staggering, the implications of what she said. The sword in Kenshin's hand. An army regiment dead. Sano shut his eyes and let his head swim, trying not to think of anything and after a while succeeding. Drifting under dappled sunlight, until it dimmed and he woke again in darkness. The wagon not moving at all, the smell of campfire, the quiet rustling of people shifting in the night.

"Sano," Kenshin's soft voice and as Sano's eyes adjusted, slower than they ought to, Kenshin's shadowy figure, with a cup in his hand. "Can you take some soup?"

He helped Sano sit up, held the cup when Sano's hands shook, and it was embarrassing needing that support. One shoulder was dense with the deep ache of a wound. He brought a hand up in the darkness, prodding the bandages there.

"Shot?" he asked. He honestly couldn't recall.

"Yes."

"You?"

Kenshin avoided that answer, tipping the cup for Sano to drink. He sucked it down, hating feeling the invalid. But not so much, perhaps, Kenshin's arm at his back and Kenshin concerned enough to press close and take care for him. He leaned on that support, which Kenshin wouldn't withdraw, him being gravely wounded and all.

"What happened back there?"

Kenshin sat there next to him, pale sliver of profile below his hair. "I thought you were dead."

Damned frustrating when a man wanted details and all Kenshin gave were whispered fragments of explanation. But Sano could piece things together. That sword that had been Ayog's and a man already teetering on the edge of broken from the deaths of wife and child - - all it might take was one supposed death more to push him well over the edge.

There was only Kenshin and him in the wagon bed. He could just see the silhouetted figures of others around a fire beyond. Not that many. Perhaps ten folks all told, out of a village of over forty. Unless there were others, ranging on watch, there had been a great toll taken of Gheta.

"Was it us?" he asked softly, taking full advantage and leaning on Kenshin's shoulder as he sat. "Did we cause this?"

They might have. Rash acts on both their parts bringing the army on their trail.

"I don't know," Kenshin finally said, very softly. Unsure.

There were looks towards them now and then from the people around that fire, family most of them, one way or another and the two of them outsiders in every way that had come with trouble on their heels. Whether it was their fault or not, they'd blame them for it. Even if those ten survivors owed their lives to Kenshin, who'd bloodied his hands stopping a mad massacre - - they'd still need to place blame. And it was easier to do that with the living than the dead.

"You okay?" Sano asked.

Kenshin was quiet a long time. Long enough that Sano thought he wouldn't answer. Then finally, "They were not honorable men fighting a war. They were butchers, slaughtering weaponless, desperate people that by all rights they should have protected."

The way Kenshin said it, Sano figured he'd already told himself that a few times, trying to convince himself.

"Damned right," Sano said. But Kenshin really hadn't answered him.

He shut his eyes again. It hurt to keep them open. Kenshin helped him ease back down, and the world spun when he was flat on his back again. But Kenshin stayed next to him, shoulder to shoulder, until it eased and he fell asleep of his own accord.

Voices woke him the next time. Low and urgent. Angry. He tensed, rolling to his side, and regretted the rapid movement. He clenched his teeth, fighting the wave of dizziness, and the way his vision wanted to blacken around the edges, looking towards the end of the wagon where a handful of villagers stood speaking to Kenshin.

"You're ill-luck," one of them was saying. "You will bring us nothing but grief if you stay."

"Any that pass us will remember foreign faces and the Raj will find us all the faster."

"They'll kill us all for what you did to them." The old man spat on the ground at Kenshin's feet, uttering a curse and the others made signs against evil and ill-fate.

Kenshin stood there silently and took it. He had the sword through his belt. The light coming though the foliage was wan and white, hinting at early morning.

"We will leave," Kenshin finally said. "When he is able."

The old man cursed again, an insult regarding the lineage of Kenshin's mother.

"I can walk. Better than staying here in the company of you lot of ungrateful bastards," Sano said, pushing himself up to a sitting position, drawing attention to himself. Kenshin gave him a wary glance over his shoulder.

Sano waved a hand, narrow eyed from as much annoyance with the villagers standing there gawking at him, as to keep his vision from wavering. He'd been hit in the head hard enough to make him see double for days before, but this was the worst.

Kenshin tightened his jaw, hand going to the hilt of the sword, gauging Sano and Sano's fitness. Sano scooted forward, to the end of the wagon and pushed himself off the bed, damned and determined not to make a fool of himself. With a hand on the edge of the wagon and one on Kenshin's shoulder he managed to stay upright while the world tilted.

Kenshin stared at him a moment longer, then nodded.

"We'll take the horse and supplies for two days travel," he said shortly and when the old man started to complain, Kenshin gave him that level, cold eyed look that made braver men than he quaver. "Be thankful I don't ask for more."

The horse was a long legged bay that Sano hadn't noticed before, tethered at the back of the cart on the road ahead of them. It had English tack, obviously the animal of one of the army officers. Now that he was coherent enough to look, he saw the haphazard collection of carts piled high with hastily gathered belongings. Two donkey carts, this wagon pulled by a pair of oxen. Ayog's pair of mules were hitched to another wagon stacked high with the collected belongings of the village.

It was a sullen parting. These people, that had never particularly welcomed them to begin with and had more reason now than ever to resent ever seeing them, stood silently staring as Sano used the wagon to mount a horse that he could not, at the moment, have climbed onto from the ground. As it was, once he was seated on its back, the world spun alarmingly and he clutched the black mane, arms rigid to keep from toppling off the other side. It wasn't until Kenshin mounted behind him, and he had that stability to lean against, that he felt secure enough to unclench.

There was no word spoken as they rode off. Just a flutter of warding signs, of amulets touched before the villagers were left behind on the narrow forest road. Still road it was, and the most likely path of pursuit, so an hour later, when they passed a trail leading off of it, Kenshin took it. Not much of a trail, but traveled enough, by men on foot or animals, that the horse could navigate it. It was uneven passage though, and Sano shut his eyes, head and stomach rebelling against the movement, leaning more heavily against Kenshin.

"Sano?" Kenshin asked, concerned.

"'m okay," Sano murmured, automatic denial of weakness.

After a moment of silence Kenshin swore and said softly. "We should have stayed another day at least and damn their wishes."

"Told you, I'm okay. Head's just complaining, is all. How long was I asleep anyway, after the attack?"

"Two days." Kenshin said tightly. "I feared - - I feared you wouldn't wake at all."

"Hnn. I've slept off binges longer than that."

Kenshin said nothing, maybe not believing that. God knew Sano didn't feel it, everything hurting, everything hot, vision this unstable, wavery thing. Sano let his head droop, shutting his eyes, easier with no vision at all. With Kenshin's arm around his middle, holding him steady, he could almost drowse. And did.

He stirred when Kenshin called his name. Started awake with a groan and Kenshin gripped his arm to keep him steady when he floundered, disoriented.

"We need to stop for a while," Kenshin said, an underlying strain in his voice.

The light coming through the trees was dimmer. There was the smell of rain in the air and already the leaves and ferns of the underbrush were shiny with the mist that made its way past the foliage above.

Sano figured, if he'd been asleep for hours, Kenshin had been shoring up his not inconsiderable dead weight. Kenshin slid down first and hovered as Sano swung a leg over and eased himself down. The horse shifted nervously, very much aware, as horses tended to be, when their riders were utter novices. Sano had never had much use for horses and vice versa, he was sure. Kenshin held the bridle of this one, keeping it from sidestepping and depriving Sano of his support while his feet grew used to the feel of solid ground under them again.

It was all he could do after, but sit down against the trunk of an aged tree, while Kenshin tethered the horse and pulled packs from the saddle. He pulled out the oiled canvas tarp they used for wet weather and sat next to Sano. Not a moment to soon, for the sky let loose its bounty and rain began to fall in earnest, making its way in huge droplets through the thick foliage.

"An hour, no more," Kenshin said. "They were right that the English will make their way back to that village with all haste and be on our trail soon after."

The sword lay on the ground at his side, the one thing he wouldn't leave on the horse and risk losing. Just like old times. Only this sword hadn't been forged with mercy in mind, not like the sakabatou. A killing blade that Kenshin had been forced to take up again. And thinking of Ayog and all those dead villagers, Sano felt no remorse that he had. They'd all be likely dead otherwise. Or be closer to capture than they were now, if he'd left them living, because live men held grudges, and bruised, angry men in positions of perilous power would be damned and determined to regain lost face.

"A couple of days at least though, right?" Sano surmised. "A day or two to reach Dhannagiri if there are more of them even stationed there. A couple of days back if they're infantry and on foot."

Kenshin didn't bother to conjecture, leaning heavily against Sano, the tarp over both their heads. There was a warmth that Sano hadn't noticed before, perhaps due to a fever of his own, that permeated Kenshin's damp clothing. And though his concentration had been scattered at best, now that he thought about it, Kenshin had been moving carefully, as though he were as stiff and sore as Sano. It occurred to him that he might not have been the only one of them injured.

"You wounded?"

There was no answer, Kenshin already out, damned adept at taking sleep when he could find it and not wasting precious time about it. Sano didn't disturb him further, just shifted minutely to get an arm behind him, trying to find as much comfort as he could sitting miserably in the rain under a tarp. There was damned little to be had. His body throbbed. He wasn't even sure where the center of it was. He lifted a hand a touched the bandage at his chest, a thick padding of cloth that wound around his shoulder, high on his torso. It was wet, but he wasn't sure if it were blood or rain. He clenched his fist and cursed, low under his breath.

One of the two of them ought to stay awake to keep watch, there being things in the thick of the forest more perilous than men, but Sano couldn't and drifted off, misery chasing him into oblivion.

It was considerably darker when Kenshin woke him. Not night yet, but deep into the late afternoon. The rain had turned to mist and Kenshin's hair was dark with wet. His clothing was and there was no help for it. He held out a canteen and Sano took it, drinking deep.

"I don't suppose," he said, squinting up at Kenshin's wavering form. "We have any of that liquor from Dhannagiri?"

Kenshin shook his head, held out a hand and Sano sighed, gripping it and letting Kenshin help him up. The world spun and he leaned for a moment with his back to the tree, testing the length and girth of his equilibrium. It took a handful of breaths before the ground stopped tilting under his feet. His head pounded, the worst ache behind his eyes he'd ever had. The side of his skull, under the bandages, throbbed rhythmically with the pulse of his blood.

Sano mounted behind this time, feeling less likely to pass out without warning and topple off. He still had Kenshin's back to lean on and Kenshin's shoulder to rest his head when he needed to shut his eyes and let unruly waves of faint headedness pass.

They rode well into dark, the forest alive with night sounds, with the steady thump of their mount's shod hooves in soft earth, occasionally clipping stone or hard root. The trail became less of a trail and hard to navigate in the shadows, limbs and trailing vines becoming problematic. When they came to a stream and an area free of bramble with small smooth rocks at its ford, it seemed a reasonable place to stop for the night. Water for the horse and a few sparse tufts of grass growing in the larger patches of sunlight the clearing around the stream would afford.

They both eased down like old men, and Sano struggled almost blindly with the straps to the packs, until Kenshin brushed his hands away and more deftly loosened the bindings. Neither of them had the strength to go about building a fire, even if they'd felt safe risking it. So it was water and stale bread and dried fish, and the both of them collapsing into a hastily made nest of blankets and tarp, the horse tethered a dozen feet away and as good of a night watchmen as either of them would have been, exhausted as they were.

He awoke to birdcalls and the chattering of some sort of monkey high in the branches overhead. Kenshin pressed close, cheek against the curve of Sano's neck, damp and warm still with that hint of fever that they both seemed to radiate. The horse had pulled free of its tether, but had wandered only as far as the stream and stood lazily grazing tufts of grass in the sunlight.

Sano slid a hand down Kenshin's back, seeking the feel of bandages, finding finally the thickness of wound cloth at his hip. He shut his eyes, bemoaning the fact that they never seemed to have the leisure, when they were sorely injured and hurting, to simply laze about and let themselves properly heal. It was always a rush to get somewhere and do something vital or a headlong flight away from trouble when all a body really needed was a little precious time to recoup.

He sighed, bladder urgently pressing him to get up and relieve it. There was no graceful way of rising and not rousing Kenshin, who slept lightly at the best of times. Kenshin blinked wearily, groaning as Sano pushed up, watching him from under half lowered lashes to make sure he kept his feet as he staggered towards the tree line and leaned there, voiding his bladder.

His head pounded as if he'd been drinking non-stop for the last few days instead of passing them in a painful daze. He gingerly touched the bandages and the throb intensified, turning vision black around the edges. His stomach lurched with a sudden onslaught of lightheadedness and he felt his legs give out from under him. The last thought to flitter across his mind as he blacked out, was how utterly embarrassing to faint like a woman with his dick still in hand. He'd never live it down.

# # #

Sano wasn't out long. He came around when Kenshin scrambled to his side, bleary eyed and muttering obscenities. Warm to the touch. Warmer than he'd been, Kenshin thought, than when they'd stopped to rest. It was the rain, the constant damp and the exertion of pushing a body past its limits when it needed time and rest to heal. Kenshin was an old hand at that - - ignoring pain and injury and forging on. It was second nature to push past the hurt and the exhaustion no matter the cost. Instinct. And now, with his own pain screaming through his bones, with his own weakness making his limbs shake, all he could think about was putting distance between them and the pursuit that would make him draw the killing blade at his hip again.

Three days since the village, he couldn't keep the flashes of memory at bay. The arc of blood trailing from the end of a gleaming katana. The sibilant feel of steel slicing through flesh and bone. Familiar feel, as if it hadn't been almost decade and a half since he'd cut his way through a battlefield, sowing human beings like stalks of wheat. Worse than that, he'd imagined her disappointment a hundred times, the dismay on her face, her faith in him shattered, if she had been alive to discover what he'd done. And he mourned that betrayal of her, more than he did the one he'd dealt her with Sano. Sano had been out of need and love, but this - - the copious amounts of blood on his hands that had come so easy, once he let himself take up that sword - - that was something else entirely. He was awash in it. The acrid taste of it filling his mouth, his mind, and it felt like he was drowning.

What made it worse, was that, weakened as he was, in defense of a weaker Sano, if they found them, he'd do it again in desperation. Shed their blood to protect what he loved. So pushing past the pain, pushing them both past their limits to get as far afield from pursuit as they could, while they could, became a dire need.

That focus was sharp as the blade at his hip and he urged a listing Sano to the horse. Helped him up and taking the majority of Sano's not inconsiderable weight made the bullet hole through his own hip throb like evil-spirits were hammering at him from the inside out. He got up him though and pulled himself up after, in front, the both of them wavering in the saddle as the horse sidestepped.

Down what could only be loosely called a trail then, a narrow break in the forest so covered in twined roots and low hanging branches that even the horse had to dip its head now and then to avoid them. Sano listed against his back, breathing harsh and uneven and more than once, Kenshin had to twist an arm back and clutch at the sweat dampened cloth of his shirt to keep him from toppling off. He might have dozed himself, hands tangled in the horse's mane, his balance so refined a thing that even asleep he was able to keep his seat.

A jerk of the horse's head, the snort of concern from the animal and he roused, heart thudding, shaking his head to dispel the whispery cobwebs of the fever that had settled in and taken hold, making his hands shake and his vision waver. There was movement in the sun-dappled foliage ahead. A pair of figures frozen on the narrow trail ahead, a flash of colorful cloth, a glimpse of brown faces and wide, startled eyes, before they melted into the forest. No soldiers certainly, but a pair of girls.

Desperation made him risk what he might not have if they had been in marginally better shape. They needed help and urgently.

"Wait. Please - -"

He could hear them rustling, none too stealthy and thought he saw the glimpse of faces peering out past the foliage, before a man stepped out onto the trail. An old man, though stout, with a head devoid of hair. A red bindi stained his forehead and his robes were threadbare. The hand that clutched the staff was large though and thick knuckled and the way he carried himself suggested he might be very adept at wielding it.

"There is nothing for you this way," the man said softly. "Turn about and you will reach an easier road eventually."

"We mean no harm - -" Kenshin said, trying to stretch his senses, trying to discover if others lurked in the wood, but the effort made his head reel, made the ground seem to tilt, as if the horse were swaying precariously on water instead of solid earth. "My friend - - he's badly hurt - - I beg you - -"

He leaned over the horse's neck, clutching Sano's limp arm with one hand and the bristly mane with the other while the world spun. If he fell now and took Sano with him, he wasn't sure he could get back up. And an old man and a pair of girls might just as well kill them while they were down and helpless than risk bringing dangerous men into their midst. And that just might be the wisest course of action for them to take, considering the turmoil that followed them. That followed him.

"Not just him, I think." The man observed, dark eyes scrutinizing and somber. Then he nodded his head and turned, beckoning to the girls in the brush. "Come if you will, then."

The girls, willowy young women in mid drift baring sari's, with bracelets on their wrists and brass earrings dangling from their ears, edged out onto the narrow trail, casting wary looks back towards Kenshin and Sano as they moved ahead of the old man on the trail. The old man didn't look back to see if they were following, but strolled ahead, stepping over roots and using the staff to ease his way.

Kenshin urged the horse forward and the beast willingly enough moved to follow the lead of the strangers. An easy walk, hooves occasionally clicking on the patchwork stone of an ancient paved path. Eventually the forest opened, the trail spilling out into a mist-shrouded glade. It took a moment, wavery as his vision was, for Kenshin to make out the lines of stone overgrown by a webwork of vines and foliage and tree roots as thick as a man's waist. A temple - - an ancient and overgrown jumble of abandoned stone left at the mercy of the jungle. So weathered and moss covered that parts of it seemed as if it had sprung from the earth itself, instead of being constructed by the hands of men. The stone pavement of a courtyard peeked out from under thick rolling moss, and the stone façade of buildings crouched on either side, carven, weather worn figures leering out from beneath the greenery and the twining roots.

Figures moved out from the shadows of the structures, a handful of women, to whom the two from the trail ran ahead to meet, whispering urgently. No other men appeared to meet them, or challenger the arrival of strangers. Just a group of wary females and the old man.

The old man called something and one of the girls nodded and scampered down the trail between buildings.

"Come. Come," the old man said, catching the horse's bridle. "Down with you. Help them."

Easier said than done, with Sano's dead weight behind him and a group of women converging, chattering with curiosity. He tried to swing down and half managed to untangled himself from Sano before Sano's weight unbalanced him and they both went down amidst soft female cries and soft female bodies. Moss covered stone was still stone and when he hit, with Sano's weight coming down atop him, it drove the air from his lungs and made the wound above his hip scream with fiery rage. Darkness crowded around the edges of his vision.

They were all just blurred faces then, and meaningless voices whispering around him, unseen hands pulling Sano off, the faint scent of perfumes as soft bodies brushed close. All he could do was lie there, the world rocking under him, while someone slid the sword from his belt. And spirits help them if these people had malice in their hearts, for even if he'd been inclined to use a naked blade against women and old men, he'd have been too weak to wield it.

# # #

For a bit the world went away, but it came back in the company of pain. Kaoru's pale face leaning over him, her usually soft eyes hard and unforgiving. Her voice this distant murmur that he could not quite understand. She hurt him, her hands pulling at the grimy, blood crusted bandage at his hip. He jerked despite himself and she said something sharply, and hands pressed him down. A blurry square face, that at first held no recognition for him, until it morphed into Master Hiko's scowling visage. _Moron_, Hiko's voice echoed in his head, _this is the least of what you deserve_.

_Blood on your hands_, Kaoru's whisper echoed after, _all your vows shattered_. And she stabbed a red-hot poker into the wound at his hip. He screamed at the burn of it, eating away at his flesh and Hiko pressed down harder, big hands biting into his shoulders, until the fire ate him up from the inside and everything plunged into darkness yet again.

When he came around again, the fire was banked low, sweat on his brow, but his mind was clear. He lay on a soft pallet, under a light blanket. He blinked up at the shadows of a dark ceiling, following the path of cords that held thin, gauzy veils of netting from the ceiling that draped down, forming almost a cocoon. Dappled, wan light filtered in from some opening beyond it. The faint sounds of forest life drifted in from outside, the chatter of monkeys, birdsong, the mating call of crickets. Louder still the steady sound of snoring and he turned his head to find Sano, not that far away, asleep on a pallet similar to his own. A clean, white bandage circled his head, stark against the black of his hair. Someone had changed the one on his shoulder as well.

Kenshin pushed the cover aside and found, to his dismay, that he was naked beneath it. But the wound at his hip, the through and through bullet hole that he had taken little care for since the old woman from the village had initially wrapped it for him, had fresh linin protecting it. It still radiated heat and some bit of throbbing ache, but not so much as it had that last day. It was from that untended wound that the fever had sprung and more the fool he was for ignoring it. Sano would have been the one to pay the price had he succumbed to it, stranded alone, wounded and lost in the vast Indian wilderness.

"Sano?" he said softly, but Sano didn't stir. Other than the snoring, which Sano had a tendency towards, his breathing was strong and even and no sheen of perspiration marked his skin. Whoever had cared for them - - certainly not the ghost of Kaoru and master Hiko, had a skillful hand at it. He vaguely recalled the old Hindu man and a gathering of women. There was still the faintest aroma of some alluring perfume in the air, the scent of it on his skin and hair, and he realized with another wave of embarrassment, that someone that taken care to clean the blood and grime away as well as tend the wounds.

There was a robe, folded near the head of the pallet. Soft, fine linin. No sign of his own clothing. Gingerly he pulled it on, feeling the pull of the wound at his hip, pushing past the complaints of his body. The sword was not here and he could not fault his hosts for removing it safely from their presence. He knelt by Sano, putting a hand to his face to feel for fever, but his skin was cool enough. He did not wake him, sleep being a rare medicine.

He stood with effort, the whole of his body protesting. It always hit him harder when he'd had the chance to stop and rest, than when he plunged headlong in pursuit of some goal. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to find his balance, then moved towards the light filtering in through the gauzy curtains. The stone was dense over his head, low ceilings, dark with age. But there were the signs of life, of dwelling about the place. Baskets along the wall, rolled mats, bolts of cloth, dried herbs and the supplies. There were no doors, just an opening where they might have existed decades or centuries ago, leading out to the courtyard to which they had first entered the temple grounds.

Cautiously he moved to the edge of the stone entrance, half in shadow, taking stock of what lay outside. Across the way was the weathered, jungle camouflaged façade of another building and at the end of the moss covered courtyard what appeared to be a shrine with the remnants of a great statue that might have been a Buddha. Most of it had been chipped away, ravaged by time, headless, armless, with only the sitting torso remaining. There was a mossy jumble of fallen stone at its foot and upon one flat perch, sat the old man, cross legged, eyes shut, as if he were dozing, taking in the sunlight that warmed the glade through the break in the foliage above. A group of young woman sat on the stone steps of the building across the way, talking among themselves as they busied themselves with various tasks.

There seemed little threat, so he moved, with somewhat less stealth further into the light. The old man opened his eyes and looked his way, the girls all still oblivious. Kenshin inclined his head marginally, respect due to a man that had taken in armed strangers with no explanation and tended to their wounds. The old man returned the gesture and unfolded, his movement drawing the attention of the girls, who then took note of Kenshin at the edge of the courtyard.

With a flurry of jingling bracelets and exclamations he found himself descended upon. This horde was scented with perfumes and clad in colorful silk and jewelry.

"Laasya. Laasya," one of them called, while the others ventured near, the old man slowly making his way towards Kenshin in their wake. _You are awake. We thought you'd sleep forever. Is there pain? Who are you?_ _Does your friend still sleep?_ _What happened to you?_ _Are you Chinese? I've never seen a Chinese with hair like yours . . ._

A flurry of queries bombarded him. He blinked, taking in a half dozen sets of dark eyes and curious faces. They were all exceedingly pretty, these girls. Their saris brilliantly colored and rich, considering they were living in the ruins of a temple in the midst of a jungle.

He found himself at no small loss, in the face of their simultaneous inquiries. The old man stood at the edge of them, leaning on what might have been a simple walking stick, or just as well a weapon, watching him quietly. Taking his measure.

"Thank you," Kenshin didn't know what else to say, feeling beset. "For taking us in." He inclined his head again, feeling helpless as they exploded into a flood of more questions. He was saved by the approach of another handful of women.

"You've all seen a man before, silly girls. Let this one breathe." The girls parted before the woman who approached. She was older than most of them, but it hardly mattered, so ageless was her beauty. Flawless face, flawless black hair that she had draped across one bare shoulder. The other was graced with a fall of silk that was wrapped with artful elegance around a suppily rounded figure. The way she moved, the tenor of her voice, made a man think of sex, pure and simple. Unnerving.

The others deferred to her, even the old man, who made way for her, dipping his head. She canted her head, taking him in and remarked. "You seem well, considering the state of your wound."

"How long have we been here?" he jerked his mind back to vital things. If they had wasted too much time, the English and their native soldiers might be close on their trail.

"You've slept for a day and half. You both were in dire need, it seems."

So long. He was appalled. "You have my gratitude. But I fear we may bring trouble upon you."

"Do you?" She lifted a brow and cast a glance to the old man. "The path to this place is not easily found. I assume from the nature of your wounds that the trouble that follows you carries English guns?"

He did not want to embroil innocents in this turmoil that had attached itself to he and Sano. He shook his head, hand drifting to the ache at his hip. "It is not trouble I wish to burden you with. We will be on our way."

"More the fool you, then," the old man finally said. "To die in the jungle, when sanctuary offers itself. Will your friend feel the same?"

He didn't know, the overwhelming instinct to outdistance the blood still strong upon him. But Sano had seemed to rest easy in the soft bed they'd provided. Easier than he would on a harsh trail. He didn't understand why these people would wish to shelter them when it was obvious violence stalked in their wake.

"Who are you? What is this place?"

The woman shrugged, waving a graceful hand. "I am Laasya. This is my sanctuary. My exile. Yaj thinks you are less dangerous than the blood you were covered with and the blade you carried with you might suggest and his instincts have never failed me. So I extend my welcome."

Almost Kenshin laughed. If only she knew. He blew out a helpless breath and looked up at the old man from under the shield of his hair and said softly. "I hope you do not regret it."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The women had washed and mended blood stained, bullet shredded clothing. The lady had one of the girls fetch it when Kenshin inquired. He respectfully declined their assistance in donning it, embarrassed. They had giggled, casting coy looks and he was not entirely sure if the offer had been real or in jest, the humors of women often confounding him. They had followed him back, though, to the place he had left Sano, seemingly fascinated by his mere presence, until Lady Laasya had reprimanded them, calling them off as she might a pack of energetic dogs and promising them the chance to pry into the secrets of their guests when they gathered for supper.

She'd laughed herself at that promise and Kenshin had blinked, put off balance by the lot of them and not entirely sure the lingering fever was not contributing to the feeling.

He'd hesitated in waking Sano before, but he had the need now. After he'd donned freshly cleaned, pleasantly scented clothing, he knelt by Sano's pallet and laid a cautious hand upon him, as Sano woken from a deep sleep did not always respond benignly. All Sano did this time was grumble and bat at the offending hand before blinking up with no small bit of disorientation. Kenshin sympathized, having experienced much the same.

"Where the hell - -?" Sano pushed himself up on to an elbow, staring around.

"A temple in the woods. We've been taken pity upon."

Sano took that in, lifting a hand to the bandage at his head, prodding the place where the bullet had scored. "Yeah? Guess we needed it. I pass out?"

Kenshin nodded.

"Priests? Did priests take us in?"

"No. This temple, I think, is long abandoned by whatever sect worshipped here. There is an old man and a group of women that live here now."

Sano stared up at the time worn stone façade of the room they were in. Some small bit of uncertainty entered his eyes. Sano had a justifiable wariness of abandoned temples and desecrated shrines. "Real people? Live ones?"

Almost Kenshin smiled, but Sano would have taken offense, so he nodded somberly and confirmed it. "I am sure of it."

Sano blew out a breath, relieved. "You trust these people?"

"I don't know," Kenshin admitted. "Our choices are limited until we're both well enough to travel. How do you feel?"

Sano rotated the shoulder experimentally. "Better. Head's not trying to explode at any rate. Not like it was. " He cast Kenshin a narrow look. "You're the one that was pretending you were fine when you weren't. How're you?"

Kenshin looked down and away and pushed Sano's pile of folded clothing forward. A hard thing to admit that if these people had meant them harm, they would both be dead now and he could not have prevented it. "There was fever - - it's abated now. I pushed us too hard. I'm sorry."

Sano stared at him long and hard, mouth pressed tight, things going through his head that Kenshin could only guess at. He nodded finally, uncomfortable with broaching the shell of the things that had driven Kenshin so relentlessly to flee the environs of that tragic little village. And Kenshin wouldn't broach it. Couldn't, all of it this looming, bloody shadow that weighed at him like the vengeful spirits of the men he had killed. Familiar feeling, that. He'd carried it for almost a decade after the war. Had only managed to shed it when he'd finally allowed himself to make associations of a permanent nature. Kaoru, Sano, Yahiko, Megumi - - all of his little circle of friends. All them serving one way or another to lift his self imposed punishment one fragile layer at a time.

"Is that food I smell?" Sano asked instead and it was probably an honest enough change of subject. Kenshin was grateful for it.

And there was the faint scent of curry and spices in the air.

"They did say," Kenshin ventured. "That they would feed us."

"Oh, Gods, I think I love this place already."

And indeed there was food, when they limped out of their borrowed haven. The old man was waiting in the courtyard, leaning upon his staff, waiting for their eventual appearance. He led them down a path between the jumbled remains of buildings to another small courtyard surrounded by temple buildings that seemed more intact than the outer ones they had so far seen. These were no less overgrown. The roots of several aged chundul trees spilled like massive tubes of white lava down the façade of the shrine. The stone was dark with age and moss, but the carvings were still visible, intricate and beautiful. There was a stone pit, around which no few women squatted, tending flatbreads frying over the flames and pouches of steaming vegetables nestled around the edges of the coals while they chatted and laughed. Others sat about the steps of the temple on spread blankets and scattered pillows, a strange sort of decadence in the midst of this weathered, overgrown place.

All semblance of conversation ceased when Sano and Kenshin appeared with their guide. More than a dozen sets of eyes turned their way.

Kenshin wasn't entirely sure, but it seemed as if there were more colorful saris, more dangling brass, and most certainly more daringly plunging necklines. No matter that he had wondered India for many, many months, a man used to the more demure fashion of Japanese women often found himself flustered by casually displayed mid-drifts and bountiful cleavage. Sano held no such unease. Sano stared and immediately and subtly straightened his shoulders, developing a little less limp and a little more cock-sureness to his stride. More reflex than anything else to strut in the face of attractive feminine attention.

The lady Laasya sat among a group of women on the temple steps and she smiled and beckoned with a graceful, bracelet adorned hand.

"Come. Come. Welcome."

Several of the girls rose, hurrying forward and drawing them forward. They were more forward laying hands on Sano, who grinned at the adamant welcome and seemed to relish the attention. They settled on the steps below Laasya amidst her flock of colorful attendants.

They were not shy, these women, and immediately launched a barrage of questions that Kenshin was content to let Sano take the brunt of. Sano was happy to oblige, as they placed warm cups of tea in their hands and offered up plates with freshly made flatbread surrounded by piles of various relish and seasoned vegetables and rice. It was a bountiful feast compared to what they'd subsided upon for the last few days. Fed and flattered by eager female attention Sano's mood became generous. He answered their questions with flourish. Who they were, the less troublesome highlights of their travels in this country. Like so many of the people here, they assumed they were Chinese and were amazed and enthralled at the notion of them crossing the sea to come here from a far away land.

Laasya was content to let the others ask most of the questions, only occasionally voicing one of her own, but her eyes took in everything and occasionally Kenshin saw her exchange looks with the old man, Yaj, who sat silently near the fire pit. There was nothing about any of them, the women or the old man, that spoke of the lower caste peasants that inhabited the dirt-poor villages and towns they had passed. Their speech was refined, educated. Their mannerisms were those of ladies used to being waited upon, rather than surviving alone in the ruins of a long abandoned temple, far from civilization. It was curious and curious when he was in fight or flight mode, made him nervous.

"If it is not presumptuous to ask, lady Laasya," he broke into a momentary lull of conversation. "You said 'exile' earlier. How did you come to be here?"

The girls all looked to her, waiting for her to answer and she smiled, shrugging one graceful shoulder. She waved a hand with a faint jingling of bracelets to the surrounding temple. "The will of the gods who dwell in this place. Fate. Ill judgment. My own as much as others. I was, you see, a courtesan in the middle of a dispute between princes."

"The most beautiful of all courtesans," one of the girls emphasized.

"A kanjari," another said. "To whom maharajas and noblemen offered their hearts. Gifted by the gods with the talents of dance and song."

Others offered their own estimation of the lady's grace and beauty, until Laasya lifted a hand stilling their praises.

"Silly girls, look where it got me, this vaunted beauty. Never satisfied with what was before me, I took as lovers two men of power. Two maharajas of neighboring provinces. It was my profession, you see, to cater to the pleasures of men willing to pay. A transaction of business and not the heart. But I underestimated the lengths men go in rivalry with other men. The need of powerful men to own what they desire."

She looked down momentarily at her folded hands, a flash of pain crossing her face, but it was gone in an instant, the beautiful calm back in place. "So they warred, these two princes and I was spark that lit the fire. Many lives were claimed and these two men died in the field of battle. Blame, perhaps rightfully so, was placed on me. So I fled, until I found refuge here, where I have lived since. I have welcomed others of my trade, who wish to escape that life, sanctuary here with me. So we are as you see."

Sano was staring, mouth agape, half eaten piece of bread dangling from his fingers. "You mean you're all prostitutes?"

One could wish more tact from Sano, but his lack was hardly surprising. The women seemed not to take offense. Some of them laughed, amused. Laasya smiled and inclined her head. "We were. It is a respected profession, despite the disfavor our English 'caretakers' place upon it."

"Any woman can lay down and spread her legs," Another said. "But a true courtesan is trained in the arts of pleasure. No common whore can please a man - - or a woman - - so."

Sano's eyes got rounder and almost Kenshin could feel the build up to the release of some offensive question. The lady Laasya prevented that with a silken one of her own.

"So, we have offered you our deep secret, won't you do us the courtesy of revealing your own? How did you come by the wounds you carry? What conflict drove you here, so far off the beaten trail?"

It was a fair question. A more than fair one, considering the threat they all took harboring strangers who had come, blood soaked and delirious to their doorstep. They had avoided giving the details of it, so far. He didn't know how to answer it, the words sticking in his throat like clogs of blood. Sano did it for him.

"I don't know that we're to blame for what happened or not. Not, I think. We pissed off some English officer a while back - - broke up a bunch of his sepoy beating up a poor bastard in some town or another - - then didn't have the courtesy of sticking around and letting them hang me for it. Knocked him on his ass on the way out and that's had them on our trail for weeks now. So - - maybe they followed us - - or maybe they just happened to be going that way anyways - - but - -" He frowned, casting Kenshin a look, needing confirmation, maybe that Kenshin was ready to reveal the terrible things that had happened in that village.

Kenshin nodded, staring from under his hair at the slow migration of a hairy worm across the stone at his knee.

Sano took a breath and plunged on. "There's a village a few days - - south? - - I guess south of here, called Gheta. Little dirt poor place with villagers that don't want much to do with anyone from the outside. The English army came - - maybe on our trail, maybe after bandits - - I don't know - - but they were on a tear and things got out of hand. I don't know who started what, but something set them off and when they started firing into the crowd - - everything went to hell. It didn't matter who was resisting, they were just shooting everything that moved. Men, women, kids - - folks who weren't even fighting back - - it was a massacre, until - -" Sano trailed off, having talked himself into a place he didn't want to go.

Kenshin went there for him, saying softly. "Until it became a massacre of a different sort." He clenched his fist, feeling the ghost of a sword hilt in his hand.

"They'd have killed every one of them," Sano said angrily, clenching his own fists, staring at Kenshin now and not the audience of women. "They'd have left them there to rot and said they were bandits or rebels or whatever excuse they needed to justify it. And they'd have gone on and maybe done it again, next time they had a suspicion and common folks took offense at them trampling all over them. So what you did - - there are innocent people alive now, that wouldn't have been otherwise. You and me are alive. They started the massacre - - you just turned it around on them is all."

"How many dead?" The old man asked finally.

Sano shook his head. "Villagers? There were what - - a dozen or so survivors? Right Kenshin? Out of about forty people. I'm not sure how many sepoy. Most of a regiment, I guess. Twenty or so. An old smith we were travelling with. A good man."

Kenshin nodded mutely. That seemed an accurate count. His own memory of the event had gone hazy after Sano had gone down. The things he recalled were jumbled and had not all been firmly seated in the present.

The women gasped softly, horrified.

"Twenty soldiers armed with English guns," Yaj said. "And you had a blade."

"And I had a blade," Kenshin confirmed, bare whisper.

"You must be very adept with it," Laasya surmised, looking shaken. All of the women did.

Kenshin didn't answer that.

"Good enough," Sano agreed. "He did what needed doing. He defended those people and he defended us. And that's what blades should be used for, right? Defense of those that can't defend themselves. That's what you used to say."

He still believed it. But this blade had taken lives in the process of that defense. Vow shattered, blood on his hands, new blood darkening the stain of old on his soul. And maybe Sano saw the way his mind was spiraling, because he growled, baring teeth and drew breath to snarl something that didn't need to be aired before these women, but the lady cut him off, asking calmly.

"And do you mean us harm? Should the innocent fear for their lives with you among them?"

"No. No!" Kenshin jerked his head up and denied it, aghast. "Which is why you do not want our company with trouble fast on our heels."

The lady sat there, the girls quiet and wide eyed around her. She looked to the old man, who shrugged.

"Few know the paths here and those that do have alliances with me," she finally said. "And if by chance those that do not find their way to this haven, there are places within these walls that might provide hidden shelter. Stay until your bodies mend. Break the boredom of long days for us."

It was as if a collective breath had been expelled. The girls, freed from their captivation, added their agreement and all Kenshin could imagine was innocent blood spattering these stones if the English army found them here. He half tasted the blood in his mouth, hot and terrible and for one precarious moment, he lost himself, flung back to the village of Gheta, the ground littered with corpses of his making - - before Sano slapped him on the shoulder - - jerking him back to the here and now.

"Yeah, that sounds good. Right, Kenshin?" Sano's voice sounded cheerful, but his eyes were hard.

Kenshin wanted to deny it. Wanted to thank them for their offer, but decline it respectfully and be safely on their way. But Sano had a set to his mouth that he got when he'd had enough and very well planned to take initiative of his own.

Sano's fingers on his shoulder tightened, the verge of painful, and Kenshin nodded reluctant agreement.


End file.
